BOOKS  BY 
EDWIN  LEFEVRE 

WALL  STREET  STORIES.    Post  8vo. 

SAMPSON  ROCK  OF  WALL  STREET. 
Illustrated.     Post  8vo. 

H.  R.    Illustrated.    Post  8vo. 

HARPER  A  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 
ESTABLISHED  1817 


WALL  STREET  STORIES 


WALL  STREET 
STORIES 

BY 

EDWIN   LEFEVRE 


AUTHOR  OP 
'H.    R."    ETC. 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


WALL  STREET  STORIES 

Copyright,  1900,  1901,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  January,  1916 


TO 

Samuel 


392444 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  WOMAN  AND  HER  BONDS      ....       1 

THE  BREAK  IN  TURPENTINE 31 

THE  TIPSTER 77 

A  PHILANTHROPIC  WHISPER      .     .     ,     .     .113 

THE  MAN  WHO  WON 129 

THE  LOST  OPPORTUNITY 161 

PIKE'S  PEAK  OR  Bus-*1 175 

A  THEOLOGICAL  TIPSTER 209 


THE   WOMAN   AND    HER    BONDS 


THE   WOMAN    AND    HER    BONDS 

IT  seemed  to  Fullerton  F.  Colwell,  of  the  famous 
Stock-Exchange  house  of  Wilson  &  Graves,  that 
he  had  done  his  full  duty  by  his  friend  Harry 
Hunt,  He  was  a  director  in  a  half  score  of  com 
panies  —  financial  debutantes  which  his  firm  had 
"  brought  out "  and  over  whose  stock-market  des 
tinies  he  presided.  His  partners  left  a  great  deal 
to  him,  and  even  the  clerks  in  the  office  ungrudg 
ingly  acknowledged  that  Mr.  Colwell  was  "the 
hardest  worked  man  in  the  place,  barring  none  " 
an  admission  that  means  much  to  those  who  know 
it  is  always  the  downtrodden  clerks  who  do  all  the 
work  and  their  employers  who  take  all  the  profit 
and  credit.  Possibly  the  important  young  men 
who  did  all  the  work  in  Wilson  &  Graves'  office 
bore  witness  to  Mr.  ColwelFs  industry  so  cheer 
fully,  because  Mr.  Colwell  was  ever  inquiring,  very 
courteously,  and,  above  all,  sympathetically,  into 
the  amount  of  work  each  man  had  to  perform,  and 
suggesting,  the  next  moment,  that  the  laborious 
amount  in  question  was  indisputably  excessive. 
Also,  it  was  he  who  raised  salaries ;  wherefore  he 
was  the  most  charming  as  well  as  the  busiest  man 


V*:  'WALL  STREET  STORIES 

there.  Of  his  partners,  John  G.  Wilson  was  a 
consumptive,  forever  going  from  one  health  resort 
to  another,  devoting  his  millions  to  the  purchase 
of  railroad  tickets  in  the  hope  of  out-racing  Death. 
George  B.  Graves  was  a  dyspeptic,  nervous,  irri 
table,  and,  to  boot,  penurious  ;  a  man  whose  chief 
recommendation  at  the  time  Wilson  formed  the 
firm  had  been  his  cheerful  willingness  to  do  all  the 
dirty  work.  Frederick  R.  Den  ton  was  busy  in  the 
"  Board  Room  "*•  —  the  Stock  Exchange  —  all  day, 
executing  orders,  keeping  watch  over  the  market 
behavior  of  the  stocks  with  which  the  firm  was 
identified,  and  from  time  to  time  hearing  things 
not  meant  for  his  ears,  being  the  truth  regarding 
Wilson  &  Graves.  But  Fullerton  F.  Colwell  had 
to  do  everything  —  in  the  stock  market  and  in  the 
office.  He  conducted  the  manipulation  of  the 
Wilson  &  Graves  stocks,  took  charge  of  the  un- 
nefarious  part  of  the  numerous  pools  formed  by 
the  firm's  customers  —  Mr.  Graves  attending  to  the 
other  details  —  and  had  a  hand  in  the  actual  man 
agement  of  various  corporations.  Also,  he  con 
ferred  with  a  dozen  people  daily  —  chiefly  "  big 
people,"  in  Wall  Street  parlance  —  who  were  about 
to  "put  through"  stock-market  "deals."  He 
had  devoted  his  time,  which  was  worth  thousands, 
and  his  brain,  which  was  worth  millions,  to  disen- 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER   BONDS         5 

tangling  his  careless  friend's  affairs,  and  when  it 
was  all  over  and  every  claim  adjusted,  and  he  had 
refused  the  executors  fees  to  which  he  was  enti 
tled,  it  was  found  that  poor  Harry  Hunt's  estate 
not  only  was  free  from  debt,  but  consisted  of 
$38,000  in  cash,  deposited  in  the  Trolleyman's 
Trust  Company,  subject  to  Mrs.  Hunt's  order,  and 
drawing  interest  at  the  rate  of  2J  per  cent  per 
annum.  He  had  done  his  work  wonderfully  well, 
and,  in  addition  to  the  cash,  the  widow  owned  an 
unencumbered  house  Harry  had  given  her  in  his 
lifetime. 

Not  long  after  the  settlement  of  the  estate  Mrs. 
Hunt  called  at  his  office.  It  was  a  very  busy  day. 
The  bears  were  misbehaving  —  and  misbehaving 
mighty  successfully.  Alabama  Coal  £  Iron  —  the 
firm's  great  specialty  —  was  under  heavy  fire  from 
"  Sam "  Sharpens  Long  Tom  as  well  as  from  the 
room-traders'  Maxims.  All  that  Colwell  could 
do  was  to  instruct  Denton,  who  was  on  the  ground, 
to  "  support "  Ala.  C.  <$•  /.  sufficiently  to  discour 
age  the  enemy,  and  not  enough  to  acquire  the 
company's  entire  capital  stock.  He  was  himself 
at  that  moment  practising  that  peculiar  form  of 
financial  dissimulation  which  amounts  to  singing 
blithely  at  the  top  of  your  voice  when  your  be 
loved  sackful  of  gold  has  been  ripped  by  bear- 


6  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

paws  and  the  coins  are  pouring  out  through  the 
rent.  Every  quotation  was  of  importance  ;  a  half 
inch  of  tape  might  contain  an  epic  of  disaster.  It 
was  not  wise  to  fail  to  read  every  printed  char 
acter. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Colwell." 

He  ceased  to  pass  the  tape  through  his  fingers, 
and  turned  quickly,  almost  apprehensively,  for  a 
woman's  voice  was  not  heard  with  pleasure  at  an 
hour  of  the  day  when  distractions  were  undesir 
able. 

"  Ah,  good  morning,  Mrs.  Hunt,"  he  said,  very 
politely.  "I  am  very  glad  indeed  to  see  you. 
And  how  do  you  do  ?  "  He  shook  hands,  and  led 
her,  a  bit  ceremoniously,  to  a  huge  armchair. 
His  manners  endeared  him  even  to  the  big  Wall 
Street  operators,  who  were  chiefly  interested  in  the 
terse  speech  of  the  ticker. 

"Of  course,  you  are  very  well,  Mrs.  Hunt. 
Don't  tell  me  you  are  not." 

"  Ye-es,"  hesitatingly.  "As  well  as  I  can  hope 
to  be  since  —  since " 

"Time  alone,  dear  Mrs.  Hunt,  can  help  us. 
You  must  be  very  brave.  It  is  what  he  would 
have  liked." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  sighed.  "  I  suppose  I 
must." 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER  BONDS        7 

There  was  a  silence.  He  stood  by,  deferentially 
sympathetic. 

"Ticky-ticky-ticky-tick"  said  the  ticker. 

What  did  it  mean,  in  figures  ?  Reduced  to 
dollars  and  cents,  what  did  the  last  three  brassy 
taps  say  ?  Perhaps  the  bears  were  storming  the 
Alabama  Coal  &  Iron  intrenchments  of  "scaled 
buying  orders " ;  perhaps  ColwelPs  trusted  lieu 
tenant,  Fred  Denton,  had  repulsed  the  enemy. 
Who  was  winning  ?  A  spasm,  as  of  pain,  passed 
over  Mr.  Fullerton  F.  ColwelFs  grave  face.  But 
the  next  moment  he  said  to  her,  slightly  con- 
science-strickenly,  as  if  he  reproached  himself  for 
thinking  of  the  stock  market  in  her  presence : 
"  You  must  not  permit  yourself  to  brood,  Mrs. 
Hunt.  You  know  what  I  thought  of  Harry,  and 
I  need  not  tell  you  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  do  what 
I  may,  for  his  sake,  Mrs.  Hunt,  and  for  your  own." 

"Ticky-ticky-ticky-tick!"    repeated  the   ticker. 

To  avoid  listening  to  the  voluble  little  ma 
chine,  he  went  on:  "Believe  me,  Mrs.  Hunt,  I 
shall  be  only  too  glad  to  serve  you." 

"You  are  so  kind,  Mr.  Colwell,"  murmured 
the  widow;  and  after  a  pause:  "I  came  to  see 
you  about  that  money."" 

"Yes?" 

"  They  tell  me  in  the  trust  company  that  if  I 


8  WALL  STREET  STORIES 

leave  the  money  there  without  touching  it  I'll 
make  $79  a  month." 

"  Let  me  see;  yes;  that  is  about  what  you  may 
expect." 

"Well,  Mr.  Colwell,  I  can't  live  on  that. 
Willie's  school  costs  me  $50,  and  then  there's 
Edith's  clothes,"  she  went  on,  with  an  air  which 
implied  that  as  for  herself  she  wouldn't  care  at  all. 
"You  see,  he  was  so  indulgent,  and  they  are 
used  to  so  much.  Of  course,  it's  a  blessing  we 
have  the  house;  but  taxes  take  up  so  much;  and 
—  isn't  there  some  way  of  investing  the  money  so 
it  could  bring  more?" 

"  I  might  buy  some  bonds  for  you.  But  for 
your  principal  to  be  absolutely  safe  at  all  times, 
you  will  have  to  invest  in  very  high-grade  securi 
ties,  which  will  return  to  you  about  3J  per  cent. 
That  would  mean,  let's  see,  $110  a  month." 

"And  Harry  spent  $10,000  a  year,"  she 
murmured,  complainingly. 

"Harry  was  always  —  er  —  rather  extrava 
gant." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  he  enjoyed  himself  while  he 
lived,"  she  said,  quickly.  Then,  after  a  pause: 
"And,  Mr.  Colwell,  if  I  should  get  tired  of  the 
bonds,  could  I  always  get  my  money  back?" 

"You  could  always  find  a  ready  market  for 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER  BONDS        9 

them.  You  might  sell  them  for  a  little  more  or 
for  a  little  less  than  you  paid." 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  sell  them,"  she  said,  with  a 
business  air,  "for  less  than  I  paid.  What  would 
be  the  sense?" 

"  You  are  right,  Mrs.  Hunt,"  he  said,  encourag 
ingly.  "It  wouldn't  be  very  profitable,  would  it?" 

"  Ticky-ticky-ticky-ticky-ticky-ticky-tick  !  "  said 
the  ticker.  It  was  whirring  away  at  a  furious 
rate.  Its  story  is  always  interesting  when  it  is 
busy.  And  Colwell  had  not  looked  at  the  tape 
in  fully  five  minutes! 

"  Couldn't  you  buy  something  for  me,  Mr.  Col- 
well,  that  when  I  came  to  sell  it  I  could  get  more 
than  it  cost  me?" 

"  No  man  can  guarantee  that,  Mrs.  Hunt." 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  lose  the  little  I  have,"  she 
said,  hastily, 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  danger  of  that.  If  you  will 
give  me  a  check  for  $35,000,  leaving  $3,000  with 
the  trust  company  for  emergencies,  I  shall  buy 
some  bonds  which  I  feel  reasonably  certain  will 
advance  in  price  within  a  few  months." 

"  Ticky-twky-ticky-tick"  interrupted  the  ticker. 
In  some  inexplicable  way  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  brassy  sound  had  an  ominous  ring,  so  he 
added:  "But  you  will  have  to  let  me  know 


10  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

promptly,  Mrs.  Hunt.  The  stock  market,  you 
see,  is  not  a  polite  institution.  It  waits  for  none, 
not  even  for  your  sex.1' 

"  Gracious  me,  must  I  take  the  money  out  of 
the  bank  to-day  and  bring  it  to  you?" 

"  A  check  will  do."  He  began  to  drum  on  the 
desk  nervously  with  his  fingers,  but  ceased 
abruptly  as  he  became  aware  of  it. 

"  Very  well,  Til  send  it  to  you  to-day.  I  know 
you're  very  busy,  so  I  won't  keep  you  any  longer. 
And  you'll  buy  good,  cheap  bonds  for  me?" 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Hunt." 

"There's  no  danger  of  losing,  is  there,  Mr. 
Colwell?" 

"None  whatever.  I  have  bought  some  for 
Mrs.  Colwell,  and  I  would  not  run  the  slightest 
risk.  You  need  have  no  fear  about  them." 

"It's  exceedingly  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Colwell. 
I  am  more  grateful  than  I  can  say.  I  —  I " 

"  The  way  to  please  me  is  not  to  mention  it, 
Mrs.  Hunt.  I  am  going  to  try  to  make  some 
money  for  you,  so  that  you  can  at  least  double 
the  income  from  the  trust  company." 

"Thanks,  ever  so  much.  Of  course,  I  know 
you  are  thoroughly  familiar  with  such  things. 
But  I've  heard  so  much  about  the  money  every 
body  loses  in  Wall  Street  that  I  was  half  afraid." 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER   BONDS       11 

"  Not  when  you  buy  good  bonds,  Mrs.  Hunt."" 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Colwell." 

a  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Hunt.  Remember,  when 
ever  I  may  be  of  service  you  are  to  let  me  know 
immediately.1' 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  so  much,  Mr.  Colwell.  Good 
morning."" 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Hunt.11 

Mrs.  Hunt  sent  him  a  check  for  $35,000,  and 
Colwell  bought  100  five-per  cent  gold  bonds  of 
the  Manhattan  Electric  Light,  Heat  &  Power 
Company,  paying  96  for  them. 

"These  bonds,"  he  wrote  to  her,  "will  surely 
advance  in  price,  and  when  they  touch  a  good 
figure  I  shall  sell  a  part,  and  keep  the  balance  for 
you  as  an  investment.  The  operation  is  partly 
speculative,  but  I  assure  you  the  money  is  safe. 
You  will  have  an  opportunity  to  increase  your 
original  capital  and  your  entire  funds  will  then  be 
invested  in  these  same  bonds  —  Manhattan  Elec 
tric  5s  —  as  many  as  the  money  will  buy.  I  hope 
within  six  months  to  secure  for  you  an  income  of 
twice  as  much  as  you  have  been  receiving  from 
the  trust  company." 

The  next  morning  she  called  at  his  office. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Hunt.  I  trust  you  are 
well/' 


12  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Col  well.  I  know  I  am 
an  awful  bother  to  you,  but " 

"  You  are  greatly  mistaken,  Mrs.  Hunt." 

"  You  are  very  kind.  You  see,  I  don't  exact 
ly  understand  about  those  bonds.  I  thought  you 
could  tell  me.  I'm  so  stupid,"  archly. 

"  I  won't  have  you  prevaricate  about  yourself, 
Mrs.  Hunt.  Now,  you  gave  me  $35,000,  didn't 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes."  Her  tone  indicated  that  she  granted 
that  much  and  nothing  more. 

"  Well,  I  opened  an  account  for  you  with  our 
firm.  You  were  credited  with  the  amount.  I 
then  gave  an  order  to  buy  one  hundred  bonds  of 
$1,000  each.  We  paid  96  for  them." 

"  I  don't  follow  you  quite,  Mr.  Col  well.  I  told 
you "  —  another  arch  smile  —  "I  was  so  stupid ! " 

"It  means  that  for  each  $l,000-bond  $960 
was  paid.  It  brought  the  total  up  to  $96,000." 

"  But  I  only  had  $35,000  to  begin  with.  You 
don't  mean  I've  made  that  much,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  Mrs.  Hunt.  You  put  in  $35,000  ; 
that  was  your  margin,  you  know ;  and  we  put  in 
the  other  $61,000  and  kept  the  bonds  as  security. 
We  owe  you  $35,000,  and  you  owe  us  $61,000, 
and " 

"But  —  I  know  you'll  laugh  at  me,  Mr.  Col- 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER   BONDS       13 

well  —  but  I  really  can't  help  thinking  it's  some 
thing  like  the  poor  people  you  read  about,  who 
mortgage  their  houses,  and  they  go  on,  and  the 
first  thing  you  know  some  real-estate  agent  owns 
the  house  and  you  have  nothing.  I  have  a  friend, 
Mrs.  Stilwell,  who  lost  hers  that  way,*"  she  fin 
ished,  corroboratively. 

"  This  is  not  a  similar  case,  exactly.  The  rea 
son  why  you  use  a  margin  is  that  you  can  do 
much  more  with  the  money  that  way  than  if  you 
bought  outright.  It  protects  your  broker  against 
a  depreciation  in  the  security  purchased,  which  is 
all  he  wants.  In  this  case  you  theoretically  owe 
us  $6 1,000,  but  the  bonds  are  in  your  name,  and 
they  are  worth  $96,000,  so  that  if  you  want  to 
pay  us  back,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  order  us  to 
sell  the  bonds,  return  the  money  we  have  advanced, 
and  keep  the  balance  of  your  margin ;  that  is,  of 
your  original  sum." 

"I  don't  understand  why  I  should  owe  the 
firm.  I  shouldn't  mind  so  much  owing  you,  be 
cause  I  know  you'd  never  take  advantage  of  my 
ignorance  of  business  matters.  But  I've  never 
met  Mr.  Wilson  nor  Mr.  Graves.  I  don't  even 
know  how  they  look." 

"But  you  know  me,"  said  Mr,  Colwell,  with 
patient  courtesy. 


14  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that  I'm  afraid  of  being  cheated, 
Mr.  Colwell,"  she  said  hastily  and  reassuringly ; 
"  but  I  don't  wish  to  be  under  obligations  to  any 
one,  particularly  utter  strangers ;  though,  of 
course,  if  you  say  it  is  all  right,  I  am  satisfied." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Hunt,  don't  worry  about  this 
matter.  We  bought  these  bonds  at  96.  If  the 
price  should  advance  to  110,  as  I  think  it  will, 
then  you  can  sell  three  fifths  for  $66,000,  pay  us 
back  $61,000,  and  keep  $5,000  for  emergencies 
in  savings  banks  drawing  4  per  cent  interest,  and 
have  in  addition  40  bonds  which  will  pay  you 
$2,000  a  year." 

"  That  would  be  lovely.  And  the  bonds  are 
now  96?" 

"  Yes ;  you  will  always  find  the  price  in  the 
financial  page  of  the  newspapers,  where  it  says 
BONDS.  Look  for  Man.  Elec.  5s?  and  he 
showed  her. 

"  Oh,  thanks,  ever  so  much.  Of  course,  I  am 
a  great  bother,  I  know " 

"You  are  nothing  of  the  kind,  Mrs.  Hunt. 
I'm  only  too  glad  to  be  of  the  slightest  use  to 
you." 

Mr.  Colwell,  busy  with  several  important 
deals,  did  not  follow  closely  the  fluctuations  in 
the  price  of  Manhattan  Electric  Light,  Heat  & 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER   BONDS       15 

Power  Company  5s.  The  fact  that  there  had 
been  any  change  at  all  was  made  clear  to  him  by 
Mrs.  Hunt.  She  called  a  few  days  after  her  first 
visit,  with  perturbation  written  large  on  her  face. 
Also,  she  wore  the  semi-resolute  look  of  a  person 
who  expects  to  hear  unacceptable  excuses. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Colwell." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Hunt  ?  Well,  I 
hope." 

"  Oh,  I  am  well  enough.  I  wish  I  could  say  as 
much  for  my  financial  matters. "  She  had  ac 
quired  the  phrase  from  the  financial  reports  which 
she  had  taken  to  reading  religiously  every  day. 

"  Why,  how  is  that  ?  " 

"  They  are  95  now,"  she  said,  a  trifle  accus 
ingly. 

"Who  are  they,  pray,  Mrs.  Hunt?"  in  sur 
prise. 

"  The  bonds.     I  saw  it  in  last  night's  paper." 

Mr.  Colwell  smiled.  Mrs.  Hunt  almost  became 
indignant  at  his  levity. 

"  Don't  let  that  worry  you,  Mrs.  Hunt.  The 
bonds  are  all  right.  The  market  is  a  trifle  dull ; 
that's  all." 

"  A  friend,"  she  said,  very  slowly,  "  who  knows 
all  about  Wall  Street,  told  me  last  night  that  it 
made  a  difference  of  $1,000  to  me." 


16  WALL  STREET  STORIES 

"  So  it  does,  in  a  way ;  that  is,  if  you  tried  to 
sell  your  bonds.  But  as  you  are  not  going  to  do 
so  until  they  show  you  a  handsome  profit,  you 
need  not  worry.  Don't  be  concerned  about  the 
matter,  I  beg  of  you.  When  the  time  comes  for 
you  to  sell  the  bonds  I'll  let  you  know.  Never 
mind  if  the  price  goes  off  a  point  or  two.  You 
are  amply  protected.  Even  if  there  should  be  a 
panic  111  see  that  you  are  not  sold  out,  no  matter 
how  low  the  price  goes.  You  are  not  to  worry 
about  it ;  in  fact,  you  are  not  to  think  about  it 
at  all." 

"  Oh,  thanks,  ever  so  much,  Mr.  Colwell.  I 
didn't  sleep  a  wink  last  night.  But  I  knew " 

A  clerk  came  in  with  some  stock  certificates 
and  stopped  short.  He  wanted  Mr.  Colwell's 
signature  in  a  hurry,  and  at  the  same  time  dared 
not  interrupt.  Mrs.  Hunt  thereupon  rose  and 
said :  "  Well,  I  won't  take  up  any  more  of  your 
time.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Colwell.  Thanks  ever 
so  much." 

"Don't  mention  it,  Mrs.  Hunt.  Good  morn 
ing.  You  are  going  to  do  very  well  with  those 
bonds  if  you  only  have  patience." 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  patient  now  that  I  know  all  about 
it ;  yes,  indeed.  And  I  hope  your  prophecy  will 
be  fulfilled.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Colwell." 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER   BONDS       17 

Little  by  little  the  bonds  continued  to  decline. 
The  syndicate  in  charge  was  not  ready  to  move 
them.  But  Mrs.  Hunt's  unnamed  friend  —  her 
Cousin  Emily's  husband  —  who  was  employed  in 
an  up-town  bank,  did  not  know  all  the  particulars 
of  that  deal.  He  knew  the  Street  in  the  ab 
stract,  and  had  accordingly  implanted  the  seed  of 
insomnia  in  her  quaking  soul.  Then,  as  he  saw 
values  decline,  he  did  his  best  to  make  the  seed 
grow,  fertilizing  a  naturally  rich  soil  with  omi 
nous  hints  and  head-shakings  and  with  phrases 
that  made  her  firmly  believe  he  was  gradually  and 
considerately  preparing  her  for  the  worst.  On  the 
third  day  of  her  agony  Mrs.  Hunt  walked  into 
ColwelPs  office.  Her  face  was  pale  and  she  looked 
distressed.  Mr.  Colwell  sighed  involuntarily  —  a 
scarcely  perceptible  and  not  very  impolite  sigh  — 
and  said  :  "  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Hunt." 

She  nodded  gravely  and,  with  a  little  gasp,  said, 
tremulously  :  "  The  bonds  ! " 

"  Yes  ?     What  about  them  ?  " 

She  gasped  again,  and  said :  "  The  p-p-pa- 
pers!" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Hunt  ?  " 

She  dropped  into  a  chair  nervelessly,  as  if  ex 
hausted.  After  a  pause  she  said  :  "  It's  in  all  the 
papers.  I  thought  the  Herald  might  be  mistaken, 


18  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

so  I  bought  the  Tribune  and  the  Times  and  the 
Sun.  But  no.  It  was  the  same  in  all.  It  was," 
she  added,  tragically,  "  93  ! " 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  said,  smilingly. 

The  smile  did  not  reassure  her ;  it  irritated  her 
and  aroused  her  suspicions.  By  him,  of  all  men, 
should  her  insomnia  be  deemed  no  laughing 
matter. 

"Doesn't  that  mean  a  loss  of  $3,000?"  she 
asked.  There  was  a  deny-it-if-you-dare  inflection 
in  her  voice  of  which  she  was  not  conscious.  Her 
cousin's  husband  had  been  a  careful  gardener. 

"  No,  because  you  are  not .  going  to  sell  your 
bonds  at  93,  but  at  110,  or  thereabouts." 

"But  if  I  did  want  to  sell  the  bonds  now, 
wouldn't  I  lose  $3,000  ? "  she  queried,  challeng- 
ingly.  Then  she  hastened  to  answer  herself: 
"  Of  course  I  would,  Mr.  Colwell.  Even  I  can 
tell  that." 

"  You  certainly  would,  Mrs.  Hunt ;  but " 

"  I  knew  I  was  right,"  with  irrepressible 
triumph. 

"  But  you  are  not  going  to  sell  the  bonds." 

"  Of  course,  I  don't  want  to,  because  I  can't 
afford  to  lose  any  money,  much  less  $3,000.  But 
I  don't  see  how  I  can  help  losing  it.  I  was 
warned  from  the  first,"  she  said,  as  if  that  made 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER  BONDS       19 

it  worse.  "  I  certainly  had  no  business  to  risk 
my  all."  She  had  waived  the  right  to  blame  some 
one  else,  and  there  was  something  consciously  just 
and  judicial  about  her  attitude  that  was  eloquent. 
Mr.  Colwell  was  moved  by  it. 

"  You  can  have  your  money  back,  Mrs.  Hunt, 
if  you  wish  it,"  he  told  her,  quite  unprofessionally. 
"  You  seem  to  worry  about  it  so  much." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  worrying,  exactly ;  only,  I  do 
wish  I  hadn't  bought  —  I  mean,  the  money  was  so 
safe  in  the  Trolleyman's  Trust  Company,  that  I 
can't  help  thinking  I  might  just  as  well  have 
let  it  stay  where  it  was,  even  if  it  didn't  bring  me 
in  so  much.  But,  of  course,  if  you  want  me  to 
leave  it  here,"  she  said,  very  slowly  to  give  him 
every  opportunity  to  contradict  her,  "  of  course, 
Til  do  just  as  you  say." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Hunt,"  Colwell  said,  very  po 
litely,  "  my  only  desire  is  to  please  you  and  to  help 
you.  When  you  buy  bonds  you  must  be  prepared 
to  be  patient.  It  may  take  months  before  you 
will  be  able  to  sell  yours  at  a  profit,  and  I  don't 
know  how  low  the  price  will  go  in  the  meantime. 
Nobody  can  tell  you  that,  because  nobody  knows. 
But  it  need  make  no  difference  to  you  whether 
the  bonds  go  to  90,  or  even  to  85,  which  is  un 
likely." 


20  WALL   STREET  STORIES 

"  Why,  how  can  you  say  so,  Mr.  Colwell  ?  If 
the  bonds  go  to  90,  Fll  lose  $6,000  — my  friend 
said  it  was  one  thousand  for  every  number  down. 
And  at  85  that  would  be "  —  counting  on  her 
fingers  —  "  eleven  numbers,  that  is,  eleven  —  thou 
sand —  dollars!"  And  she  gazed  at  him,  awe- 
strickenly,  reproachfully.  "  How  can  you  say  it 
would  make  no  difference,  Mr.  Colwell  ?  " 

Mr.  Colwell  fiercely  hated  the  unnamed  "friend,"" 
who  had  told  her  so  little  and  yet  so  much.  But 
he  said  to  her,  mildly  :  "  I  thought  that  I  had  ex 
plained  all  that  to  you.  It  might  hurt  a  weak 
speculator  if  the  bonds  declined  ten  points,  though 
such  a  decline  is  utterly  improbable.  But  it  won't 
affect  you  in  the  slightest,  since,  having  an  ample 
margin,  you  would  not  be  forced  to  sell.  You 
would  simply  hold  on  until  the  price  rose  again. 
Let  me  illustrate.  Supposing  your  house  cost 
$10,000,  and " 

"  Harry  paid  $32^000,"  she  said,  correctingly. 
On  second  thought  she  smiled,  in  order  to  let 
him  see  that  she  knew  her  interpolation  was  ir 
relevant.  But  he  might  as  well  know  the  actual 
cost. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  good-humoredly,  "we'll 
say  $32,000,  which  was  also  the  price  of  every 
other  house  in  that  block.  And  suppose  that. 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER  BONDS       21 

owing  to  some  accident,  or  for  any  reason  what 
ever,  nobody  could  be  found  to  pay  more  than 
$25,000  for  one  of  the  houses,  and  three  or  four 
of  your  neighbors  sold  theirs  at  that  price.  But 
you  wouldn't,  because  you  knew  that  in  the  fall, 
when  everybody  came  back  to  town,  you  would 
find  plenty  of  people  who'd  give  you  $50,000  for 
your  house  ;  you  wouldn't  sell  it  for  $25,000,  and 
you  wouldn't  worry.  Would  you,  now  ?  "  he  fin 
ished,  cheerfully. 

"  No,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I  wouldn't  worry. 
But,"  hesitatingly,  for,  after  all,  she  felt  the  awk 
wardness  of  her  position,  "  I  wish  I  had  the  money 
instead  of  the  bonds."  And  she  added,  self-defen- 
sively :  "  I  haven't  slept  a  wink  for  three  nights 
thinking  about  this." 

The  thought  of  his  coming  emancipation  cheered 
Mr.  Colwell  immensely.  "  Your  wish  shall  be 
gratified,  Mrs.  Hunt.  Why  didn't  you  ask  me 
before,  if  you  felt  that  way  ?  "  he  said,  in  mild  re 
proach.  And  he  summoned  a  clerk. 

"Make  out  a  check  for  $35,000  payable  to 
Mrs.  Rose  Hunt,  and  transfer  the  100  Manhattan 
Electric  Light  5s  to  my  personal  account." 

He  gave  her  the  check  and  told  her  :  "  Here  is 
the  money.  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  unwittingly 
caused  you  some  anxiety.  But  all's  well  that 


22  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

ends  well.  Any  time  that  I  can  be  of  service  to 
you  —  Not  at  all.  Don't  thank  me,  please  ;  no. 
Good  morning." 

But  he  did  not  tell  her  that  by  taking  over  her 
account  he  paid  896,000  for  bonds  he  could  have 
bought  in  the  open  market  for  $93,000.  He  was 
the  politest  man  in  Wall  Street ;  and,  after  all, 
he  had  known  Hunt  for  many  years. 

A  week  later  Manhattan  Electric  5-per  cent 
bonds  sold  at  96  again.  Mrs.  Hunt  called  on 
him.  It  was  noon,  and  she  evidently  had  spent 
the  morning  mustering  up  courage  for  the  visit. 
They  greeted  one  another,  she  embarrassed  and 
he  courteous  and  kindly  as  usual. 

"Mr.  Colwell,  you  still  have  those  bonds,  haven't 
you  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes." 

"  I  —  I  think  I'd  like  to  take  them  back." 

"  Certainly,  Mrs.  Hunt.  I'll  find  out  how  much 
they  are  selling  for."  He  summoned  a  clerk  to 
get  a  quotation  on  Manhattan  Electric  5s.  The 
clerk  telephoned  to  one  of  their  bond-specialists, 
and  learned  that  the  bonds  could  be  bought  at 
96J.  He  reported  to  Mr.  Colwell,  and  Mr.  Col- 
well  told  Mrs.  Hunt,  adding  :  "  So  you  see  they 
are  practically  where  they  were  when  you  bought 
them  before." 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER   BONDS       23 

She  hesitated.  "I — I — didn't  you  buy  them 
from  me  at  93  ?  I'd  like  to  buy  them  back  at 
the  same  price  I  sold  them  to  you." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Hunt,"  he  said ;  "  I  bought  them 
from  you  at  96." 

"  But  the  price  was  93."  And  she  added,  cor- 
roboratively  :  "  Don't  you  remember  it  was  in  all 
the  papers  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  I  gave  you  back  exactly  the  same 
amount  that  I  received  from  you,  and  I  had  the 
bonds  transferred  to  my  account.  They  stand  on 
our  books  as  having  cost  me  96." 

"But  couldn't  you  let  me  have  them  at  93?" 
she  persisted. 

"I'm  very  sorry,  Mrs.  Hunt,  but  I  don't  see 
how  I  could.  If  you  buy  them  in  the  open 
market  now,  you  will  be  in  exactly  the  same 
position  as  before  you  sold  them,  and  you  will 
make  a  great  deal  of  money,  because  they  are 
going  up  now.  Let  me  buy  them  for  you 
at  96J." 

"At  93,  you  mean,"  with  a  tentative  smile. 

"At  whatever  price  they  may  be  selling  for," 
he  corrected,  patiently. 

"Why  did  you  let  me  sell  them,  Mr.  Col  well?" 
she  asked,  plaintively. 

"But,  my  dear  madam,  if  you  buy  them  now, 


24  WALL  STREET  STORIES 

you  will  be  no  worse  off  than  if  you  had  kept 
the  original  lot." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  why  it  is  that  I  have  to  pay 
96  J  now  for  the  very  same  bonds  I  sold  last  Tues 
day  at  93.  If  it  was  some  other  bonds,"  she  added, 
"I  wouldn't  mind  so  much." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Hunt,  it  makes  no  difference 
which  bonds  you  hold.  They  have  all  risen  in 
price,  yours  and  mine  and  everybody's;  your  lot 
was  the  same  as  any  other  lot.  You  see  that, 
don't  you?" 

"Ye-es;  but " 

"Well,  then,  you  are  exactly  where  you  were 
before  you  bought  any.  You've  lost  nothing, 
because  you  received  your  money  back  intact." 

"I'm  willing  to  buy  them,"  she  said  resolutely, 
"at  93." 

"Mrs.  Hunt,  I  wish  I  could  buy  them  for  you 
at  that  price.  But  there  are  none  for  sale  cheaper 
than  96J." 

"Oh,  why  did  I  let  you  sell  my  bonds!"  she  said, 
disconsolately. 

"Well,  you  worried  so  much  because  they  had 
declined  that " 

"Yes,  but  I  didn't  know  anything  about  busi 
ness  matters.  You  know  I  didn't,  Mr.  Colwell," 
she  finished,  accusingly. 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER  BONDS       25 

He  smiled  in  his  good-natured  way.  "Shall  I 
buy  the  bonds  for  you?"  he  asked.  He  knew  the 
plans  of  the  syndicate  in  charge,  and  being  sure 
the  bonds  would  advance,  he  thought  she  might 
as  well  share  in  the  profits.  At  heart  he  felt 
sorry  for  her. 

She  smiled  back.  "Yes,1'  she  told  him,  "at 
93."  It  did  not  seem  right  to  her,  notwithstand 
ing  his  explanations,  that  she  should  pay  96J  for 
them,  when  the  price  a  few  days  ago  was  93. 

"But  how  can  I,  if  they  are  96 J?" 

"Mr.  Colwell,  it  is  93  or  nothing."  She  was 
almost  pale  at  her  own  boldness.  It  really  seemed 
to  her  as  if  the  price  had  only  been  waiting  for  her 
to  sell  out  in  order  to  advance.  And  though  she 
wanted  the  bonds,  she  did  not  feel  like  yielding. 

"Then  I  very  much  fear  it  will  have  to  be 
nothing." 

"Er — good  morning,  Mr.  Colwell,"  on  the  verge 
of  tears. 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Hunt."  And  before  he 
knew  it,  forgetting  all  that  had  gone  before,  he 
added:  "Should  you  change  your  mind,  I  should 
be  glad  to " 

"  I  know  I  wouldn't  pay  more  than  93  if  I  lived 
to  be  a  thousand  years."  She  looked  expectantly 
at  him,  to  see  if  he  had  repented,  and  she  smiled 


26  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

—  the  smile  that  is  a  woman's  last  resort,  that 
says,  almost  articulately:  "I  know  you  will,  of 
course,  do  as  I  ask.  My  question  is  only  a  for 
mality.  I  know  your  nobility,  and  I  fear  not." 
But  he  only  bowed  her  out,  very  politely. 

On  the  Stock  Exchange  the  price  of  Man.  Elec. 
L.  H.  $  P.  Co.  5s  rose  steadily.  Mrs.  Hunt,  too 
indignant  to  feel  lachrymose,  discussed  the  subject 
with  her  Cousin  Emily  and  her  husband.  Emily 
was  very  much  interested.  Between  her  and  Mrs. 
Hunt  they  forced  the  poor  man  to  make  strange 
admissions,  and,  deliberately  ignoring  his  feeble 
protests,  they  worked  themselves  up  to  the  point 
of  believing  that,  while  it  would  be  merely  gen 
erous  of  Mr.  Colwell  to  let  his  friend's  widow  have 
the  bonds  at  93,  it  would  be  only  his  obvious  duty 
to  let  her  have  them  at  96  J.  The  moment  they 
reached  this  decision  Mrs.  Hunt  knew  how  to  act. 
And  the  more  she  thought  the  more  indignant  she 
became.  The  next  morning  she  called  on  her  late 
husband's  executor  and  friend. 

Her  face  wore  the  look  often  seen  on  those 
ardent  souls  who  think  their  sacred  and  inaliena 
ble  rights  have  been  trampled  upon  by  the  tyrant 
Man,  but  who  at  the  same  time  feel  certain  the 
hour  of  retribution  is  near. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Colwell.     I  came  to  find 


THE    WOMAN    AND    HER   BONDS       27 

out  exactly  what  you  propose  to  do  about  my 
bonds."  Her  voice  conveyed  the  impression  that 
she  expected  violent  opposition,  perhaps  even  bad 
language,  from  him. 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Hunt.  Why,  what  do 
you  mean?" 

His  affected  ignorance  deepened  the  lines  on 
her  face.  Instead  of  bluster  he  was  using  finesse! 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  know,  Mr.  Col  well,"  she 
said,  meaningly. 

"Well,  I  really  don't.  I  remember  you  wouldn't 
heed  my  advice  when  I  told  you  not  to  sell  out, 
and  again  when  I  advised  you  to  buy  them 
back." 

"Yes,  at  96£,"  she  burst  out,  indignantly. 

"Well,  if  you  had,  you  would  to-day  have  a 
profit  of  over  $7,000." 

"And  whose  fault  is  it  that  I  haven't?"  She 
paused  for  a  reply.  Receiving  none,  she  went  on : 
"But  never  mind;  I  have  decided  to  accept  your 
offer,"  very  bitterly,  as  if  a  poor  widow  could  not 
afford  to  be  a  chooser;  "I'll  take  those  bonds  at 
96 J."  And  she  added,  under  her  breath:  "Al 
though  it  really  ought  to  be  93." 

"But,  Mrs.  Hunt,"  said  Col  well,  in  measureless 
astonishment,  "you  can't  do  that,  you  know.  You 
wouldn't  buy  them  when  I  wanted  you  to,  and  I 


28  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

can't  buy  them  for  you  now  at  96 J.  Really,  you 
ought  to  see  that." 

Cousin  Emily  and  she  had  gone  over  a  dozen 
imaginary  interviews  with  Mr.  Colwell  —  of  vary 
ing  degrees  of  storminess  —  the  night  before,  and 
they  had,  in  an  idle  moment,  and  not  because  they 
really  expected  it,  represented  Mr.  Colwell  as  taking 
that  identical  stand.  Mrs.  Hunt  was,  accordingly, 
prepared  to  show  both  that  she  knew  her  moral 
and  technical  rights,  and  that  she  was  ready  to 
resist  any  attempt  to  ignore  them.  So  she  said, 
in  a  voice  so  ferociously  calm  that  it  should  have 
warned  any  guilty  man :  "  Mr.  Colwell,  will  you 
answer  me  one  question?" 

"A  thousand,  Mrs.  Hunt,  with  pleasure." 

"No;  only  one.  Have  you  kept  the  bonds 
that  I  bought,  or  have  you  not?" 

"What  difference  does  that  make,  Mrs.  Hunt?" 

He  evaded  the  answer! 

"Yes  or  no,  please.  Have  you,  or  have  you 
not,  those  same  identical  bonds?" 

"Yes;  I  have.     But " 

"And  to  whom  do  those  bonds  belong,  by 
rights?"  She  was  still  pale,  but  resolute. 

"  To  me,  certainly." 

"  To  you,  Mr.  Colwell?"  She  smiled.  And  in 
her  smile  were  a  thousand  feelings ;  but  not  mirth. 


THE   WOMAN   AND   HER   BONDS       29 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Hunt,  to  me." 

"And  do  you  propose  to  keep  them?" 

"  I  certainly  do." 

"Not  even  if  I  pay  96 J  will  you  give  them 
to  me?" 

"Mrs.  Hunt,"  Colwell  said  with  warmth  "when 
I  took  those  bonds  off  your  hands  at  93  it  repre 
sented  a  loss  on  paper  of  $3,000 " 

She  smiled  in  pity  —  pity  for  his  judgment  in 
thinking  her  so  hopelessly  stupid. 

"And  when  you  wanted  me  to  sell  them  back 
to  you  at  93  after  they  had  risen  to  96  J,  if  I  had 
done  as  you  wished,  it  would  have  meant  an  actual 
loss  of  $3,000  to  me." 

Again  she  smiled  —  the  same  smile,  only  the 
pity  was  now  mingled  with  rising  indignation. 

"For  Harry's  sake  I  was  willing  to  pocket  the 
first  loss,  in  order  that  you  might  not  worry.  But 
I  didn't  see  why  I  should  make  you  a  present  of 
$3,000,"  he  said,  very  quietly. 

"I  never  asked  you  to  do  it,"  she  retorted, hotly. 

"If  you  had  lost  any  money  through  my  fault, 
it  would  have  been  different.  But  you  had  your 
original  capital  unimpaired.  You  had  nothing  to 
lose,  if  you  bought  back  the  same  bonds  at  prac 
tically  the  same  price.  Now  you  come  and  ask  me 
to  sell  you  the  bonds  at  96  J  that  are  selling  in  the 


SO  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

market  for  104,  as  a  reward,  I  suppose,  for  your 
refusal  to  take  my  advice/' 

"Mr.  Colwell,  you  take  advantage  of  my  posi 
tion  to  insult  me.  And  Harry  trusted  you  so 
much !  But  let  me  tell  you  that  I  am  not  going 
to  let  you  do  just  as  you  please.  No  doubt  you 
would  like  to  have  me  go  home  and  forget  how 
you've  acted  toward  me.  But  I  am  going  to  con 
sult  a  lawyer,  and  see  if  I  am  to  be  treated  this 
way  by  a  friend  of  my  husband's.  You've  made 
a  mistake,  Mr.  Colwell." 

"Yes,  madam,  I  certainly  have.  And,  in  order 
to  avoid  making  any  more,  you  will  oblige  me 
greatly  by  never  again  calling  at  this  office.  By 
all  means  consult  a  lawyer.  Good  morning, 
madam,"  said  the  politest  man  in  Wall  Street. 

"  We'll  see,"  was  all  she  said ;  and  she  left  the 
room. 

Colwell  paced  up  and  down  his  office  nervously.1 
It  was  seldom  that  he  allowed  himself  to  lose  his 
temper,  and  he  did  not  like  it.  The  ticker 
whirred  away  excitedly,  and  in  an  absent-minded, 
half-disgusted  way  he  glanced  sideways  at  it. 

"Man.  Elec.  5s,  1061-?  he  read  on  the  tape. 


THE  BREAK  IN  TURPENTINE 


THE  BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE 

IN  the  beginning  of  the  beginning  the  distillers  of 
turpentine  carried  competition  to  the  quarrelling 
point.  Then  they  carried  the  quarrel  to  the  point 
of  silence,  which  was  most  to  be  feared,  for  it 
meant  that  no  time  was  to  be  wasted  in  words. 
All  were  losing  money ;  but  each  hoped  that  the 
others  were  losing  more,  proportionately,  and  there 
fore  would  go  under  all  the  sooner.  The  surviv 
ors  thought  they  could  manage  to  keep  on  sur 
viving,  for  on  what  twelve  would  starve  four  could 
feast. 

It  is  seen  periodically  in  the  United  States :  an 
industry  apparently  suffering  from  suicidal  mania. 
It  is  incomprehensible,  inexplicable,  though  medi 
ocrities  mutter :  "  Over-production  ! "  and  shake 
their  heads  complacently,  proud  of  having  diag 
nosed  the  trouble.  Here  was  the  turpentine  busi 
ness,  once  great  and  lucrative,  now  ruin-producing ; 
formerly  affording  a  comfortable  livelihood  to 
many  thousands  and  now  giving  ever-diminishing 
wages  to  ever-diminishing  numbers. 

It  was  Mr.  Alfred  Neustadt,  a  banker  in  a  fa 
mous  turpentine  district,  who  first  called  his 


84  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

brother-in-law's  attention  to  the  pitiable  sight. 
Mr.  Jacob  Greenbaum's  soul  thrilled  during  Neu- 
stadt's  recital.  He  perceived  golden  possibilities 
that  dazzled  him  :  He  decided  to  form  a  Turpen 
tine  Trust. 

First  he  bought  for  a  song  all  the  bankrupt 
stills  ;  seven  of  them.  Later  on,  in  his  scheme  of 
trust  creation,  these  self-same  distilleries  would  be 
turned  over  to  the  "octopus,"  at  nice  fat  figures, 
as  Greenbaum  put  it,  self -admiringly,  to  his 
brother-in-law.  Then  he  secured  options  on  nine 
others,  the  tired-unto-death  plants.  In  this  way 
he  was  able  to  control  "  a  large  productive  capac 
ity  "  at  an  expenditure  positively  marvellous  —  it 
was  so  small.  It  was  also  in  his  brother-in-law's 
name.  Then  the  banking  house  of  Greenbaum, 
Lazarus  &  Co.  stepped  in,  interested  accomplices, 
duped  or  coerced  into  selling  enough  other  distill 
ers  to  assure  success,  cajoled  the  more  stubborn, 
wheedled  the  more  credulous,  gave  way  gracefully 
to  the  shrewder  and  gathered  them  all  into  the 
fold.  The  American  Turpentine  Company  was 
formed,  with  a  capital  stock  of  $30,000,000  or 
300,000  shares  at  $100  each.  The  cash  needed, 
to  pay  Mr.  Greenbaum,  Neustadt  and  others  who 
sold  their  plants  for  "  part  cash  and  part  stock," 
was  provided  by  an  issue  of  $25,000,000  of  6  per 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE          35 

cent  bonds,  underwritten  by  a  syndicate  composed 
of  Greenbaum,  Lazarus  &  Co.,  I.  &  S.  Wechsler, 
Morris  Steinfelder's  Sons,  Reis  &  Stern,  Kohn, 
Fischel  &  Co.,  Silberman  &  Lindheim,  Rosenthal, 
Shaffran  &  Co.  and  Zeman  Bros. 

They  were  men  who  never  "  speculated  "  ;  some 
times  they  "  conducted  financial  operations."  They 
had  shears,  not  fleeces. 

The  prospectus  of  the  "  Trust "  was  a  master 
piece  of  persuasiveness  and  vagueness,  of  slim  sta 
tistics  and  alluring  generalities.  In  due  course  of 
time  the  public  subscribed  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  $25,000,000  of  bonds,  and  both  bonds  and 
stock  were  "  listed  "  on  the  New  York  Stock  Ex 
change  —  that  is,  they  were  placed  on  the  list  of 
securities  which  members  may  buy  or  sell  on  the 
"  floor  "  of  the  Exchange. 

Tabularly  expressed,  the  syndicate's  operations 
were  as  follows : 

Authorized  stock $30,000,000 

bonds ..  25,000,000 


Total $55,000,000 

Actual  worth  of  property 12,800,000 


AquaPura $42,200,000 

Paid  to  owners  for  41  distilleries  representing 
90  per  cent  of  the  turpentine  production  (and  121 


36  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

per  cent  of  the  consumption !)  of  the  United 
States : 

Cash  from  bond  sales $8,975,983 

Bonds 12,000,000 

Stock 18,249,800 


Total $39,225,783 

Syndicate's  commission,  stock 12,988,500 

Retained  in  Co.'s  treasury,  unissued...     2,000,000 
Expenses  and  discounts  on  bonds,  etc...        785,717 

Total $55,000,000 

These  figures  were  not  for  publication.  They 
told  the  exact  truth. 

The  public  knew  nothing  of  the  company's 
earning  capacity,  save  a  few  tentative  figures  from 
the  prospectus,  which  was  a  sort  of  financial  gos 
pel  according  to  Greenbaum,  but  which  did  not 
create  fanatical  devotees  among  investors.  The 
stock,  unlike  the  Kipling  ship,  had  not  found  it 
self.  It  was  not  market-proven,  not  seasoned  ;  no 
one  knew  how  much  dependence  to  put  on  it ; 
wherefore  the  banks  would  not  take  it  as  collateral 
security  on  loans  and  wherefore  the  "  speculative 
community"  (as  the  newspapers  call  the  stock 
gamblers)  would  not  touch  it,  since  in  a  pinch  it 
might  prove  utterly  unvendible.  It  remained  for 
the  syndicate  to  make  a  "  market "  for  it,  to  de 
velop  such  a  condition  of  affairs  that  anyone  at 


THE  BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE         37 

any  time  could,  without  overmuch  difficulty  and 
without  causing  over-great  fluctuations,  sell  readily 
American  Turpentine  Company  stock.  The  syn 
dicate  would  have  to  earn  its  commission. 

All  the  manufacturers  who  had  received  stock 
in  part  payment  were  told  most  impressively  by 
Mr.  Greenbaum  not  to  sell  their  holdings  under 
any  circumstances  at  any  price  below  $75  a  share. 
Not  knowing  Mr.  Greenbaum,  they  readily  and 
solemnly  promised  to  obey  him.  They  even  per 
mitted  themselves  to  think,  after  talking  to  him, 
that  they  would  some  day  receive  $80  per  share 
for  all  their  holdings.  This  precluded  any  un 
timely  "unloading"  by  the  only  people  outside 
the  syndicate  that  held  any  Turpentine  stock  at 
all. 

Mr.  Greenbaum  took  charge  of  the  market  con 
duct  of  "  Turp,"  as  the  tape  called  the  stock  of 
the  American  Turpentine  Company.  At  first,  the 
price  was  marked  up  by  means  of  "  matched  "  or 
ders  — -r  preconcerted  and  therefore  not  bona  fide 
transactions.  Mr.  Greenbaum  told  one  of  his 
brokers  to  sell  1,000  shares  of  "  Turp  "  to  another 
of  his  brokers  and  shortly  afterwards  the  second 
broker  sold  the  same  1,000  shares  to  a  third,  by 
pre-arrangement  —  this  being  the  matching  process 
—  with  the  result  that  the  tape  recorded  transac- 


38  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

tions  of  2,000  shares.  After  the  "matching" 
had  gone  on  for  some  time,  readers  of  the  tape 
were  supposed  to  imagine  that  the  stock  was  legit 
imately  active  and  strong  —  two  facts  which  in 
turn  were  supposed  to  whet  the  buying  appetite. 
It  was  against  the  rule  of  the  Exchange  to 
"match"  orders,  but  how  could  convictions  be 
secured  ? 

"  Turp  "  began  at  25  and  as  the  syndicate  had 
all  the  stock  in  the  market,  it  was  easily  manipu 
lated  upward  to  35.  Every  day,  many  thousands  of 
shares,  according  to  the  Stock  Exchange's  official 
records,  "  changed  hands  "  —  from  Greenbaum's 
right  to  his  left  and  back  again  —  and  the  price 
rose  steadily.  But  something  was  absent.  The 
manipulation  was  not  convincing.  It  did  not 
make  the  general  public  nibble.  The  only  buy 
ers  were  the  "  room  traders,"  that  is,  the .  profes 
sional  stock  gamblers  who  were  members  of  the 
Exchange  and  speculated  for  themselves  exclu 
sively;  and  those  customers  of  the  commission 
houses  who,  because  they  were  bound  to  speculate 
daily  or  die  and  because  they  studied  the  ticker- 
ribbon  so  assiduously,  were  known  by  the  generic 
name  of  "  tape- worms."  These  gentry,  in  and  out 
of  the  Exchange,  provided  the  tape  in  its  curious 
language  foretold  a  rise,  would  buy  anything  — 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE          39 

from  capitalized  impudence,  as  in  the  case  of  Back 
Bay  Gas,  whose  property  was  actually  worth  nil 
and  its  capital  stock  was  $100,000,000,  up  to 
Government  bonds. 

Now,  the  room  traders  and  the  tape-worms 
reasoned  not  illogically  that  the  "Greenbaum 
gang"  had  all  the  stock  and  that  perforce  the 
"gang"  had  to  find  a  market  for  it;  and  the  only 
way  to  do  this  was  by  a  nice  "bull"  or  upward 
movement.  When  a  stock  rises  and  rises  and 
rises  the  newspapers  are  full  of  pleasant  stories 
about  it  and  the  lambs  read  but  do  not  run  away; 
they  buy  on  the  assumption  that,  as  the  stock  has 
already  risen  ten  points  it  may  rise  ten  more. 
This  explains  why  they  make  so  much  money  in 
Wall  Street  —  for  the  natives. 

Greenbaum  and  his  associates  were  exception 
ally  shrewd  business  men,  thoroughly  familiar  with 
Wall  Street  and  its  methods,  cautious  yet  bold, 
far-seeing  yet  eminently  of  the  day.  They  were 
practical  financiers.  They  marked  up  the  price 
of  "Turp"  ten  points;  but  they  could  not  arouse 
public  interest  in  it  so  that  people  would  buy  it. 
Indeed,  at  the  end  of  three  weeks,  during  which 
the  "Street"  had  been  flooded  with  impressive 
advice,  printed  and  spoken,  to  buy  because  the 
price  was  going  higher,  all  they  had  for  their 


40  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

trouble  was  more  stock  —  6,000  shares  from  Ira 
D.  Keep,  a  distiller,  who  sold  out  at  38  because 
he  needed  the  money;  and  they  also  were  obliged 
to  buy  back  from  the  "room  traders"  at  35  and 
36  and  higher,  the  same  stock  the  "gang"  had 
sold  at  30  and  31  and  32  and  34.  Then  the 
manipulators  had  to  "support"  the  stock  at  the 
higher  level,  that  is,  they  had  to  keep  it  from  de 
clining,  which  could  be  done  only  by  continuous 
buying.  By  doing  this  the  public  might  imagine 
there  was  considerable  merit  in  a  stock  which  was 
in  such  good  demand  from  intelligent  people  as 
to  remain  firm,  notwithstanding  its  previous  sub 
stantial  rise.  And  if  somebody  wanted  "Turp" 
why  shouldn't  the  public  want  it?  The  public 
generally  asks  itself  that  question.  It  is  in  the 
nature  of  a  nibble  and  rejoices  the  hearts  of  the 
financial  anglers. 

Every  attempt  to  sell  "Turp"  met  with  failure. 
At  length  it  was  decided  to  allow  the  price  to  sink 
back  to  an  "invitingly  low"  level.  It  was  done. 
But  still  the  invited  public  refused  to  buy.  Efforts 
to  encourage  a  short  interest  to  over-extend  itself 
unto  "squeezable"  proportions  failed  similarly. 
The  Street  was  afraid  to  go  "short"  of  a  stock 
which  was  so  closely  held.  The  philosophy  of 
short  selling  is  simple;  it  really  amounts  to  bet- 


THE  BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE         4\ 

ting  that  values  will  decline.  A  man  who  "sells 
short"  sells  what  he  does  not  possess,  but  hopes 
to  buy,  later  on,  at  a  lower  price.  But  since  he 
must  deliver  what  he  sells  he  borrows  it  from 
some  one  else,  giving  the  lender  ample  security. 
To  "cover*"  or  to  "buy  in"  is  to  purchase  stock 
previously  sold  short.  Obviously,  it  is  unwise  to 
be  short  of  a  stock  which  is  held  by  such  a  few 
that  it  may  be  difficult  to  borrow  it.  To 
"squeeze"  shorts  is  to  advance  the  price  in  order 
to  force  "covering."  This  is  done  when  the 
short  interest  is  large  enough  to  make  it  worth 
while. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  few  months,  after  a 
series  of  injudicious  fluctuations  which  gave  to 
"Turp"  a  bad  name,  even  as  Wall  Street  names 
went,  despite  glowing  accounts  of  the  company^ 
wonderful  business  and  after  distributing  less  than 
35,000  shares,  the  members  of  the  "Turpentine 
Skindicate,"  as  it  was  popularly  called,  sorrowfully 
acknowledged  that,  while  they  had  skilfully 
organized  the  trust  and  had  done  fairly  well  with 
the  bonds,  they  certainly  were  not  howling  suc 
cesses  as  manipulators.  During  the  following 
eight  months  they  sold  more  stock.  They  spared 
not  the  widow  nor  the  orphan.  They  even 
"stuck"  their  intimate  friends.  They  had  sold 


42  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

for  something  what  had  cost  them  nothing;  it 
was  natural  to  wish  to  sell  more. 

Now,  manipulators  of  stocks  are  born,  not 
made.  The  art  is  most  difficult,  for  stocks  should 
be  manipulated  in  such  wise  that  they  will  not 
look  manipulated.  Anybody  can  buy  stocks  or  can 
sell  them.  But  not  every  one  can  sell  stocks  and 
at  the  same  time  convey  the  impression  that 
he  is  buying  them,  and  that  prices  therefore  must 
inevitably  go  much  higher.  It  requires  boldness 
and  consummate  judgment,  knowledge  of  tech 
nical  stock-market  conditions,  infinite  ingenuity 
and  mental  agility,  absolute  familiarity  with 
human  nature,  a  careful  study  of  the  curious 
psychological  phenomena  of  gambling  and  long 
experience  with  the  Wall  Street  public  and  with 
the  wonderful  imagination  of  the  American 
people;  to  say  nothing  of  knowing  thoroughly 
the  various  brokers  to  be  employed,  their  capa 
bilities,  limitations  and  personal  temperaments; 
also,  their  price. 

Adequate  manipulative  machinery,  moreover, 
can  be  perfected  only  with  much  toil  and  patience 
and  money.  Professional  Wall  Street  will  always 
tell  you  that  "the  tape  tells  the  story. "  The 
little  paper  ribbon,  therefore,  must  be  made  to 
tell  such  stories  as  the  manipulator  desires  should 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE          43 

be  told  to  the  public;  he  must  produce  certain 
effects  which  should  preserve  an  appearance  of 
alluring  spontaneity  and,  above  all,  of  legitimacy 
and  candor;  he  must  be  a  great  artist  in  men 
dacity  and  at  the  same  time  have  the  superb  self- 
confidence  of  a  grizzly. 

Several  members  of  the  syndicate  had  many  of 
these  qualities,  but  none  had  them  all.  It  was 
decided  to  put  "Turp"  stock  in  the  hands  of 
Samuel  Wimbleton  Sharpe,  the  best  manipulator 
Wall  Street  had  ever  known.  "Jakey"  Green- 
baum  said  he  would  conduct  the  negotiations 
with  the  great  plunger. 

Sharpe  was  a  financial  free-lance,  free-booter 
and  free-thinker.  He  had  made  his  first  fortune 
in  the  mining  camps  of  Arizona  and  finding  that 
field  too  narrow  had  come  to  New  York,  where  he 
could  gamble  to  his  heart's  content.  He  was  all 
the  things  that  an  ideal  manipulator  should  be 
and  several  more.  He  had  arrived  in  New  York 
with  a  sneer  on  his  lips  and  a  loaded  revolver  in 
his  financial  hands.  The  other  "big  operators" 
looked  at  him  in  pained  astonishment.  "I  carry 
my  weapons  openly,'1  Sharpe  told  them,  "and  you 
conceal  your  dirks.  Don't  hurt  yourselves  trying 
to  look  honest.  I  never  turn1  my  back  on  such  as 
you."  Of  this  encounter  was  born  a  hostility 


44  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

that  never  grew  faint.  Sharpe  had  nothing  of 
his  own  to  unload  on  anyone  else,  no  property  to 
overcapitalize  and  sell  to  an  undiscriminating 
public  by  means  of  artistic  lies  and  his  enemies 
often  did.  So  they  called  him  a  gambler,  very 
bitterly,  and  he  called  them  philanthropists,  very 
cheerfully.  If  he  thought  a  stock  was  unduly 
high  he  sold  it  confidently,  aggressively,  stupen 
dously.  If  he  thought  a  stock  was  too  low  he 
bought  it  boldly,  ready  to  take  all  the  offerings 
and  bid  for  more.  And  once  on  the  march,  he 
might  be  temporarily  checked,  be  forced  by  the 
enemy  to  halt  for  a  day  or  a  week  or  a  month ; 
but  inevitably  he  arrived.  And  such  an  arrival ! 
And  as  a  manipulator  of  stock -values  he  had  no 
equal.  On  the  bull  side  he  rushed  a  stock  up 
ward  so  steadily,  so  boldly  and  brilliantly,  but, 
above  all,  so  persuasively,  that  lesser  gamblers  al 
most  fought  to  be  allowed  to  take  it  off  his  hands 
at  incredibly  high  prices.  And  when  in  the  con 
duct  of  one  of  his  masterly  bear  campaigns  he  saw 
fit  to  "  hammer  "  the  market,  values  melted  away 
as  by  magic  —  Satanic  magic,  the  poor  lambs 
thought.  All  stocks  looked  "sick,"  looked  as 
though  prices  would  go  much  lower ;  murmurs  of 
worse  things  to  come  were  in  the  air,  vague,  dis 
quieting,  ruin-breeding.  The  atmosphere  of  the 


THE   BREAK    IN   TURPENTINE          45 

Street  was  supersaturated  with  apprehension,  and 
the  black  shadow  of  Panic  brooded  over  the  Stock 
Exchange,  chilling  the  little  gamblers'  hearts,  wip 
ing  out  the  last  of  the  little  gamblers1  margins. 
And  even  the  presidents  of  the  solid,  conservative 
banks  studied  the  ticker  uneasily  in  their  offices. 

Greenbaum  was  promptly  admitted  to  Sharpens 
private  office.  It  was  a  half-darkened  room,  the 
windows  having  wire-screens,  summer  and  winter, 
in  order  that  prying  eyes  across  the  street  might  not 
see  his  visitors  or  his  confidential  brokers,  whose 
identity  it  was  advisable  should  remain  unknown 
to  the  Street.  He  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
room,  pausing  from  time  to  time  to  look  at  the 
tape.  The  ticker  is  the  only  telescope  the  stock- 
market  general  has ;  it  tells  him  what  his  forces 
are  doing  and  how  the  enemy  is  meeting  his  at 
tacks.  Every  inch  of  the  tape  is  so  much  ground  ; 
every  quotation  represents  so  many  shots. 

There  was  something  feline  in  Sharpens  stealthy, 
soundless  steps,  in  his  mustaches,  in  the  conforma 
tion  of  his  face  —  broad  of  forehead  and  triangu 
lating  chinward.  In  his  eyes,  too,  there  was  some 
thing  tigerish  —  unmelodramatically  cold  hearted 
and  coldly  curious  as  they  looked  upon  Mr.  Jacob 
Greenbaum.  Unconsciously  the  unfanciful  Trust- 
maker  asked  himself  whether  Sharpens  heart-beats 


46  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

were  not  ticker  ticks,  impassively  indicating  the 
pulse  of  the  stock-market. 

"  Hallo,  Greenbaum." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Sharpe  ? "  quoth  the 
millionaire  senior  partner  of  the  firm  of  Green- 
baum,  Lazarus  &  Co.  "  I  hope  you  are  well  ?  " 
He  bent  his  head  to  one  side,  his  eyes  full  of  a 
caressing  scrutiny,  as  though  to  ascertain  the  ex 
act  condition  of  Sharpens  health.  "  Yes,  you  must 
be.  I  haven't  seen  you  look  so  fine  in  a  long 
time.11 

"  You  didn't  come  up  here  just  to  tell  me  this, 
Greenbaum,  did  you  ?  How's  your  Turpentine  ? 
Oh  ! "  —  with  a  long  whistle  —  "I  see.  You  want 
me  to  go  into  it,  hey  ?  "  And  he  laughed  —  a  sort 
of  half-chuckle,  half-snarl. 

Greenbaum  looked  at  him  admiringly ;  then, 
with  a  tentative  smile,  he  said :  "  I  am  discov 
ered  ! " 

Nearly  every  American  may  be  met  as  an  equal 
on  the  field  of  Humor.  To  jest  in  business  mat 
ters  of  the  greatest  importance  bespoke  the  na 
tional  trait.  Moreover,  if  Sharpe  declined,  Green 
baum  could  treat  the  entire  affair  —  the  proposal 
and  the  rejection  —  as  parts  of  a  joke. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Sharpe,  unhumorously. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  a  pool  ?" 


THE   BREAK    IN   TURPENTINE          47 

"  How  big  ?  "  coldly. 

"Up  to  the  limit."  Again  the  Trust-maker 
smiled,  uncertainly. 

"  You  haven't  all  the  capital  stock,  I  hope." 

"Well,  call  it  100,000  shares,"  said  Green- 
baum,  more  uncertainly  and  less  jovially. 

"  Who  is  to  be  in  it  besides  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know ;  the  same  old  crowd." 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  mimicked  Mr.  Sharpe,  scornfully, 
"  the  same  old  crowd.  You  ought  to  have  come 
to  me  before ;  it  will  take  something  to  overcome 
your  own  reputations.  How  much  will  each 
take?" 

"  We'll  fix  that  O.  K.  if  you  take  hold,"  an 
swered  Greenbaum,  laughingly.  "  We've  got  over 
100,000  shares  and  we'd  rather  some  one  else  held 
some  of  it.  We  ain't  hogs.  Ha  !  Ha ! " 

"  But,  the  distillers  ?  " 

"  They  are  in  the  pool.  I've  got  most  of  their 
stock  in  my  office.  I'll  see  that  it  does  not  come 
out  until  I  say  so." 

There  was  a  pause.  Between  Sharpens  eye 
brows  were  two  deep  lines.  At  length,  he  said : 

"Bring  your  friends  here, this  afternoon.  Good- 
by,  Greenbaum.  And,  I  say,  Greenbaum." 

"Yes?" 

"  No  funny  tricks  at  any  stage  of  the  game." 


48  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

"What's  the  use  of  saying  such  things,  Mr. 
Sharpe  ?  "  with  an  experimental  frown. 

"  The  use  is  so  you  won't  try  any.  Come  at 
four,1"  and  Mr.  Sharpe  began  to  pace  up  and  down 
the  room.  Greenbaum  hesitated,  still  frowning 
tentatively;  but  he  said  nothing  and  at  length 
went  out. 

Sharpe  looked  at  the  tape.     "  Turp  "  was  291. 

He  resumed  his  restless  march  back  and  forth. 
It  was  only  when  the  market  "  went  against  him  " 
that  Mr.  Sharpe  did  not  pace  about  the  room  in 
the  mechanical  way  of  a  menagerie  animal,  glancing 
everywhere  but  seeing  nothing.  When  something 
unexpected  happened  in  the  market  Sharpe  stood 
immobile  beside  the  ticker,  because  his  over 
worked  nerves  were  tense  —  like  a  tiger  into 
whose  cage  there  enters  a  strange  and  eatable 
animal. 

On  the  minute  of  four  there  called  on  Mr. 
Sharpe  the  senior  partners  of  the  firms  of  Green 
baum,  Lazarus  &  Co.,  I.  &  S.  Wechsler,  Morris 
Steinfelder's  Sons,  Reis  &  Stern,  Kohn,  Fischel  & 
Co.,  Silberman  &  Lindheim,  Rosen  thai,  Shaffran 
&  Co.,  and  Zeman  Bros. 

They  were  ushered  not  into  the  private  office, 
but  into  a  sumptuously  furnished  room,  the  walls 
of  which  were  covered  with  dashing  oil  paintings 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE         4-9 

of  horses  and  horse-races.  The  visitors  seated 
themselves  about  a  long  oaken  table. 

Mr.  Sharpe  appeared  at  the  threshold. 

"  How  do  you  do,  gentlemen  ?  Don't  move, 
please;  don't  move."  He  made  no  motion  to 
shake  hands  with  any  of  them,  but  Greenbaum 
came  to  him  and  held  out  his  fat  dexter  resolutely 
and  Sharpe  took  it.  Then  Greenbaum  sat  down 
and  said,  "  We're  here,"  and  smiled,  blandly. 

Sharpe  stood  at  the  head  of  the  polished,  shin 
ing  table,  and  glanced  slowly  down  the  double 
row  of  alert  faces.  His  look  rested  a  fraction  of 
a  minute  on  each  man's  eyes  —  a  sharp,  half-con 
temptuous,  almost  menacing  look  that  made  the 
older  men  uncomfortable  and  the  younger  re 
sentful. 

"  Greenbaum  tells  me  you  wish  to  pool  your 
Turpentine  stock  and  have  me  market  it  for 
you." 

All  nodded;  a  few  said  "yes";  one  —  Lind- 
heim,  aetat  27  —  said,  flippantly,  "That's  what." 

"Very  well.  What  will  each  man's  proportion 
be?" 

"I  have  a  list  here,  Sharpe,"  put  in  Green 
baum.  He  intentionally  omitted  the  "Mr."  for 
effect  upon  his  colleagues.  Sharpe  noted  it,  but 
did  not  mind  it. 


50  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

Sharpe  read  aloud: 

Greenbaum,  Lazarus  &  Co 38,000  shares. 

I.  &S.  Wechsler 14,000 

Morris  Steinfelder's  Sons 14,000 

Reis  &  Stern 11,000 

Kohn,  Fischel  &  Co 10,000 

Silberman  &  Lindheim 9,000 

Rosenthal,  Shaffran  &  Co 9,800 

ZemanBros...  8,600 


Total 114,400  shares. 

"Is  that  correct,  gentlemen?"  asked  Sharpe. 

Greenbaum  nodded  his  head  and  smiled  affably 
as  befitted  the  holder  of  the  biggest  block.  Some 
said  "Yes";  others,  "That  is  correct."  Young 
Lindheim  said,  "That's  what."  The  founders  of 
the  firm  —  his  uncle  and  his  father  —  were  dead, 
and  he  had  inherited  the  entire  business  from  the 
two.  His  flippancy  was  not  inherited  from  either. 

"It  is  understood,"  said  Sharpe,  slowly,  "that 
I  am  to  have  complete  charge  of  the  pool,  and 
conduct  operations  as  I  see  fit.  I  want  no  ad 
vice  and  no  questions.  If  there  is  any  asking 
to  be  done,  Til  do  it.  If  my  way  does  not  suit 
you  we'll  call  the  deal  off  right  here,  because  it's 
the  only  way  I  have.  I  know  my  business,  and  if 
you  know  yours  you'll  keep  your  mouths  shut  in 
this  office  and  out  of  it," 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE         51 

No  one  said  a  word,  not  even  Lindheim. 

"  Each  of  you  will  continue  to  carry  the  stock 
for  which  he  has  agreed  to  stand  in  the  pool. 
You've  had  it  a  year  and  couldn't  sell  it,  and  you 
might  keep  it  a  few  weeks  more,  until  I  sell  it  for 
you.  It  must  be  subject  to  my  call  at  one 
minuted  notice.  I've  looked  into  the  company's 
business,  and  I  think  the  stock  can  easily  sell  at 
75  or  80." 

"  Something  like  a  gasp  of  astonishment  came 
from  those  eight  hardened  speculators.  Then 
Greenbaum  smiled,  knowingly,  as  if  that  were  his 
programme,  memorized  and  spoken  by  Sharpe. 

"It  is  also  understood,"  went  on  Sharpe,  very 
calmly,  "that  none  of  you  has  any  other  stock  for 
sale  at  any  price,  excepting  his  proportion  in  this 
pool,  and  that  proportion,  of  course,  is  not  to  be 
sold  excepting  by  me."  No  one  said  a  word,  and 
he  continued: 

"My  profit  will  be  25  per  cent  of  the  pool's 
winnings,  figuring  on  the  stock  having  been  put 
in  at  29.  The  remaining  profits  will  be  divided 
pro  rata  among  you;  the  necessary  expenses  will 
be  shared  similarly.  I  think  that's  all.  And, 
gentlemen,  no  unloading  on  the  sly  —  not  one 
share." 

"I  want  you  to  understand,  Mr.  Sharpe,  that 


52  WALL  STREET   STORIES 

we  are  not  in  the  habit  of — "  began  Greenbaum 
with  perfunctory  dignity.  He  felt  it  was  his 
duty  to  remonstrate  before  his  colleagues. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Greenbaum.  I  know 
you.  That's  why  I'm  particular.  We've  all 
been  in  Wall  Street  more  than  a  month  or  two. 
I  simply  said,  'No  shenanigan.'  And,  Green 
baum,"  he  added,  very  distinctly,  while  his  eyes 
took  on  that  curious,  cold,  menacing  look,  "I 

mean  it,  every  d d  word  of  it.  I  want  the 

numbers  of  all  your  stock-certificates.  Excuse 
me,  gentlemen.  I  am  very  busy.  Good-after 
noon." 

And  that  is  how  the  famous  bull  pool  in 
Turpentine  came  to  be  formed.  They  thought  he 
might  have  been  nicer,  more  diplomatic;  but  as 
they  had  sought  him,  not  he  them,  they  bore 
with  his  eccentricities.  Each  pool  manager  had 
his  way,  just  as  there  are  various  kinds  of 
pools. 

"Sam  is  not  half  a  bad  fellow,"  Greenbaum  told 
them,  as  if  apologizing  for  a  dear  friend's  weak 
nesses.  "He  wants  to  make  out  he  is  a  devil  of  a 
cynic,  but  he's  all  right.  If  you  humor  him  you 
can  make  him  do  anything.  /  always  let  him 
have  his  way." 

On  the  very  next  day  began  the  historical  ad- 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE          53 

vance  in  Turpentine.  It  opened  up  at  30.  The 
specialists  —  brokers  who  made  a  specialty  of  deal 
ing  in  it  —  took  16,000  shares,  causing  an  advance 
to  32  J.  Everybody  who  had  been  "landed"  with 
the  shares  at  higher  figures,  and  had  bitterly  re 
gretted  it  ever  since,  now  began  to  feel  hopeful. 
As  never  before  a  stock  had  been  manipulated, 
with  intent  to  deceive  and  malice  prepense,  so  did 
Sharpe  manipulate  Turpentine  stock.  The  tape 
told  the  most  wonderful  stories  in  the  world,  not 
the  less  wonderful  because  utterly  untrue.  Thus, 
one  day  the  leading  commission  houses  in  the  Street 
were  the  buyers,  which  inevitably  led  to  talk  of 
"important  developments1"1;  and  the  next  day 
brokers  identified  with  certain  prominent  financiers 
took  calmly,  deliberately,  nonchalantly,  all  the 
offerings;  which  clearly  indicated  that  the  afore 
mentioned  financiers  had  acquired  a  "controlling 
interest"  —  the  majority  of  the  stock  —  of  the 
American  Turpentine  Company.  And  on  another 
day  there  was  a  long  string  of  purchases  of  "odd" 
lots  —  amounts  less  than  100  shares  —  by  brokers 
that  usually  did  business  for  the  Greenbaum  syn 
dicate,  meaning  that  friends  of  the  syndicate  had 
received  a  "tip"  straight  from  "the  inside"  and 
were  buying  for  investment. 

Then,  one  fine,  sunshiny  day,  when  everybody  felt 


54  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

very  well  and  the  general  market  was  particularly 
firm,  the  loquacious  tape  told  the  watchful  pro 
fessional  gamblers  of  Wall  Street  —  oh,  so  plainly ! 
—  that  there  was  "inside  realizing";  said,  almost 
articulately  to  them,  that  the  people  most  familiar 
with  the  property  were  unloading.  Sharpe  was 
selling,  with  intentional  clumsiness,  stock  he  had 
been  forced  to  accumulate  during  his  bull  ma 
nipulation  —  for  in  order  to  advance  the  price  he 
had  to  buy  much  —  and  he  was  not  averse  to  con 
veying  such  impressions  as  would  lead  to  the 
creation  of  a  short  interest,  large  enough  to  make 
it  profitable  to  "squeeze."  He  had  too  much 
company  on  the  bull  side.  And  sure  enough  the 
professional  gamblers  said:  "Aha!  They  are 
through  with  it.  The  movement  is  over!"  and 
sold  "Turp"  short  confidently,  for  a  worthless 
stock  had  no  business  to  be  selling  at  $46  a  share. 
The  price  yielded  and  they  sold  more  the  next 
day.  But  lo,  on  the  day  following,  the  Board 
member  of  a  very  conservative  house  went  into 
the  "Turp"  crowd  and  bought  it  —  he  did  not 
"bid  up"  the  price  at  all,  but  bought  and  bought 
until  he  had  accumulated  20,000  shares,  and  the 
bears  became  panic-stricken,  and  rumors  of  a 
near-by  dividend  began  to  circulate,  and  the  bears 
covered  their  shorts  at  a  loss  and  "went  long"  — 


THE   BREAK    IN   TURPENTINE          55 

bought  in  the  hope  of  a  further  rise  —  and  the 
stock  closed  at  52. 

And  Sharpe  reduced  very  greatly  the  amount 
of  "  Turp  "  stock  he  had  been  obliged  to  take  for 
manipulative  purposes.  So  far  he  was  buying 
more  than  he  sold.  Later  he  would  sell  more 
than  he  bought.  When  the  demand  exceeds  the 
vendible  supply,  obviously  the  price  rises ;  when 
the  supply  for  sale  exceeds  the  demand,  a  fall  re 
sults.  But  the  average  selling  price  of  a  big  line 
may  be  high  enough  to  make  the  operation  profit 
able,  even  though  a  decline  occurs  during  the 
course  of  the  selling. 

For  a  week  "  Turp  "  rested  ;  then  it  began  to 
rise  once  more.  At  56  and  58  it  became  the 
most  active  stock  of  the  entire  list.  Everybody 
talked  about  it.  The  newspapers  began  to  pub 
lish  statements  of  the  company's  wonderful  earn 
ings,  and  the  Street  began  to  think  that,  in 
common  with  other  "  trusts,"  the  American  Tur 
pentine  Company  must  be  a  very  prosperous  con 
cern.  The  company  at  this  time  developed  a 
habit  of  advancing  prices  a  fraction  of  a  cent  per 
gallon  every  week,  so  that  the  papers  could  talk 
of  the  boom  in  the  turpentine  trade. 

At  60  the  Street  thought  there  really  must  be 
something  behind  the  movement,  for  no  mere 


56  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

manipulation  could  put  up  the  price  thirty  points 
in  a  month's  time,  which  shows  what  a  wonderful 
artist  Sharpe  was.  And  people  began  to  look 
curiously  and  admiringly  and  enviously  and  in 
many  other  ways  at  "Jakey"  Greenbaum  and 
his  accomplices,  and  to  accuse  them  of  having  in 
tentionally  kept  down  the  price  of  the  stock  for 
a  year  in  order  to  "  freeze  out "  the  poor,  unso 
phisticated  stockholders,  and  to  "  tire  out "  some 
of  the  early  buyers,  because  "  Turp,"  being  "  a 
good  thing,"  Greenbaum  et  al.  wanted  it  all  for 
themselves.  And  Greenbaum  et  al.  smiled  guilt 
ily  and  said  nothing,  though  Jakey  winked 
from  time  to  time  when  they  spoke  to  him  about 
it ;  and  old  Isidore  Wechsler  cultivated  a  Napo 
leon  III.  look  of  devilish  astuteness  ;  and  "  Bob  " 
Lindheim  became  almost  dignified ;  and  myopic 
little  Morris  Steinfelder  gained  15  pounds  and 
Rosenthal  stopped  patting  everybody  on  the 
back,  and  mutely  invited  everybody  to  pat  him 
on  the  back. 

Then  Sharpe  sent  for  "Jakey,"  and  on  the 
next  day  young  "  Eddie  "  Lazarus  swaggeringly 
offered  to  wager  $10,000  against  $5,000  that  a 
dividend  on  "Turp"  stock  would  be  declared 
during  the  year.  Whereupon  the  newspapers  of 
their  own  accord  began  to  guess  how  great  a  divi- 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE         57 

dend  would  be  paid,  and  when ;  and  various  fig 
ures  were  mentioned  in  the  Board  room  by  brok 
ers  who  confided  to  their  hearers  that  they  "  got 
it  on  the  dead  q.  t.,  straight  from  the  inside" 
And  two  days  later  Sharpens  unsuspected  brokers 
offered  to  pay  If  per  cent  for  the  dividend  on 
100,000  shares,  said  dividend  to  be  declared 
within  sixty  days  or  the  money  forfeited.  And 
the  stock  sold  up  to  66f ,  and  the  public  wanted 
it.  A  big,  broad  market  had  been  established, 
in  which  one  could  buy  or  sell  the  stock  with 
ease  by  the  tens  of  thousands  of  shares.  The 
114,400  shares,  which  at  the  inception  of  the 
movement  at  the  unsalable  price  of  $30  a  share 
represented  a  theoretical  $3,432,000,  now  readily 
vendible  at  $65  a  share,  meant  $7,422,000  ;  not 
half  bad  for  a  few  weeks'  work. 

And  still  Sharpe,  wonderful  man  that  he  was, 
gave  no  sign  that  he  was  about  to  begin  unload 
ing.  Whereupon  the  other  members  of  the 
pool  began  to  wish  he  were  not  quite  so  greedy. 
They  were  satisfied  to  quit,  they  said.  The  pres 
ence  of  the  pool's  stock  in  their  offices  began  to 
irritate  them.  They  knew  the  vicissitudes  of  life, 
the  uncertainties  of  politics,  and  of  the  stock 
market.  Supposing  some  crazy  anarchist  blew 
up  the  President  of  the  United  States,  or  the 


58  WALL  STREET  STORIES 

Emperor  of  Germany  were  to  insult  his  grand 
mother,  the  market  would  "  break  "  to  pieces,  and 
their  $4,000,000  of  paper  profits  would  disap 
pear.  They  implored,  individually  and  collec 
tively,  Mr.  Jacob  Greenbaum  to  call  on  Sharpe  ; 
and  Greenbaum,  disregarding  a  still,  small  voice 
that  warned  him  against  it,  went  to  Sharpens 
office,  and  came  out  of  it,  two  minutes  later, 
somewhat  flushed,  and  assured  his  colleagues  one 
by  one  that  Sharpe  was  all  right,  and  that  he 
seemed  to  know  his  business.  Also,  that  he  was 
cranky  that  day.  He  always  was,  added  Green 
baum  forgivingly,  when  one  of  his  horses  lost  a 
race. 

The  stock  fluctuated  between  60  and  65.  It 
seemed  to  be  having  a  resting  spell.  But  as  it 
had  enjoyed  these  periods  of  repose  on  three  sev 
eral  occasions  during  the  rise  —  at  40  and  48  and 
56  —  the  public  became  all  the  more  eager  to  buy 
it  whenever  it  fell  to  60  or  59,  for  the  Street  was 
now  full  of  tips  that  "  Turp "  would  go  to  par. 
And  such  was  the  public^  speculative  temper  and 
Mr.  Sharpens  good  work  that  disinterested  observ 
ers  were  convinced  the  stock  would  surely  sell 
above  90  at  the  very  least.  Mr.  Sharpe  still 
bought  and  sold,  but  he  sold  twice  as  much  as 
he  bought,  and  the  big  block  he  had  been  obliged 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE          59 

to  take  in  the  course  of  his  manipulation  dimin 
ished.  On  the  next  day  he  hoped  to  begin  sell 
ing  the  pool  stock. 

That  very  day  Mr.  Greenbaum,  as  he  returned 
to  his  office  from  his  luncheon,  felt  well  pleased 
with  the  meal  and  therefore  with  himself  and 
therefore  with  everything.  He  scanned  a  yard  or 
two  of  the  tape  and  smiled.  "  Turp "  was  cer 
tainly  very  active  and  very  strong. 

"  In  such  a  market,"  thought  Mr.  Greenbaum, 
"Sharpe  can't  possibly  tell  he's  getting  stock 
from  me.  In  order  to  be  on  the  safe  side  I'm  go 
ing  to  let  him  have  a  couple  of  thousand.  Then, 
should  anything  happen,  I'd  be  that  much  ahead. 
Ike  !  "  he  called  to  a  clerk. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Sell  two  —  wait ;  make  it  3,000  —  no,  never 
mind.  Send  for  Mr.  Ed  Lazarus."  And  he 
muttered  to  himself,  with  a  subthrill  of  pleasure : 
"  I  can  just  as  well  as  not  make  it  5,000  shares." 

"  Eddie,"  he  said  to  his  partner's  son,  "  give  an 
order  to  some  of  the  room  traders,  say  to  Willie 
Schiff,  to  sell  five  —  er  —  six  —  tell  him  to  sell 
7,000  shares  of  Turpentine  and  to  borrow  the 
stock.  I  am  not  selling  a  share,  see  ? "  with  a 
wink.  "  It's  short  selling  by  him,  do  you  under 
stand?" 


60  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

"Do  I?  Well,  I  guess.  Fll  fix  that  part  O.K., " 
said  young  Lazarus,  complacently.  He  thought  he 
would  cover  GreenbaunVs  tracks  so  well  as  to  deceive 
everybody,  including  that  highly  disagreeable  man, 
Samuel  Wimbleton  Sharpe.  He  felt  so  confident, 
so  elated,  did  the  young  man,  that  when  he  gave 
the  order  to  his  friend  and  club-mate,  Willie 
Schiff,  he  raised  it  to  10,000  shares.  Green- 
baum's  breach  of  faith  had  grown  from  the  rela 
tively  small  lot  of  2,000  shares  to  five  times  that 
amount.  It  was  to  all  appearances  short  stock, 
and  it  was  duly  "  borrowed  "  by  young  Schiff.  It 
was  advisable  that  it  should  so  appear.  In  the 
first  place  no  member  of  the  pool  could  supply  the 
stock  which  he  held,  because  Sharpe  could  trace 
the  selling  to  the  office,  as  he  had  the  numbers  of 
the  stock  certificates.  And,  again,  short  selling 
does  not  have  the  weakening  effect  that  long  sell 
ing  has.  When  stock  is  sold  short  it  is  evident 
that  sooner  or  later  the  seller  will  have  to  buy  it 
back ;  that  is,  a  future  demand  for  the  stock  is 
assured  from  this  source,  if  from  no  other. 
Whereas,  long  stock  is  that  actually  held  by  some 
one. 

Isidore  Wechsler,  who  held  14,000  shares,  was 
suffering  from  a  bad  liver  the  same  day  that 
Greenbaum  was  suffering  from  nothing  at  all,  not 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE          61 

even  a  conscience.  A  famous  art  collection  would 
be  sold  at  auction  that  week,  and  he  felt  sure  his 
vulgar  friend,  "  Abe  "  Wolff,  would  buy  a  couple 
of  exceptionally  fine  Troyons  and  a  world-famous 
Corot,  merely  to  get  his  name  in  the  papers. 

"  '  Turp,'  62  5,"  said  his  nephew,  who  was  stand 
ing  by  the  ticker. 

Then  old  Wechsler  had  an  idea.  If  he  sold 
2,000  shares  of  Turpentine  at  62  or  63,  he  would 
have  enough  to  buy  the  best  ten  canvases  of  the 
collection.  His  name  —  and  the  amounts  paid  — 
would  grace  the  columns  of  the  papers.  What 
was  3,000  shares,  or  even  4,000,  when  Sharpe  had 
made  such  a  big,  broad  market  for  the  stock  ? 

"  Why,  I  might  as  well  make  it  5,000  shares 
while  I'm  about  it,  for  there's  no  telling  what  may 
happen  if  Sharpe  should  overstay  his  market. 
Fll  build  a  new  stable  at  Westhurst " — his  coun 
try  place  —  "  and  call  it,"  said  old  Wechsler  to 
himself,  in  his  peculiar,  facetious  way  so  renowned 
in  Wall  Street,  "  the  Turpentine  Horse  Hotel,  in 
honor  of  Sharpe."  And  so  his  5,000  shares  were 
sold  by  E.  Halford,  who  had  the  order  from  Her- 
zog,  Wertheim  &  Co.,  who  received  it  from  Wechs 
ler.  It  was  short  selling,  of  course. 

Total  breach  of  faith,  15,000  shares. 

Now  that  very  evening  Bob  Lindheinfs  ex- 


62  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

tremely  handsome  wife  wanted  a  necklace,  and 
wanted  it  at  once ;  also  she  wanted  it  of  filbert-sized 
diamonds.  She  had  heard  her  husband  speak 
highly  of  Sam  Sharpens  masterly  manipulation  of 
Turpentine,  and  she  knew  he  was  "in  on  the 
ground  floor."  She  read  the  newspapers,  and  she 
always  followed  the  stock  market  diligently,  for 
Bob,  being  young  and  loving,  used  to  give  her  a 
share  in  his  stock  deals  from  time  to  time,  and 
she  learned  to  figure  for  herself  her  "  paper "  or 
theoretical  profits,  when  there  were  any,  so  that 
Bob  couldn't  have  "  welched "  if  he  had  wished. 
On  this  particular  evening  she  had  statistics  ready 
for  him,  showing  how  much  money  he  had  made ; 
and  she  wanted  that  necklace.  She  had  longed 
for  it  for  months.  It  cost  only  $17,000.  But 
there  was  also  a  lovely  bracelet,  diamonds  and 
rubies,  and 

Lindheim,  to  his  everlasting  credit,  remon 
strated  and  told  her :  "  Wait  until  the  pool  real 
izes,  sweetheart.  I  don't  know  at  what  price  that 
will  be,  for  Sharpe  says  nothing.  But  I  know 
well  all  make  something  handsome,  and  so  will 
you.  Ill  give  you  500  shares  at  30.  There  ! " 

"  But  I  want  it  now ! "  she  protested,  pouting. 
She  was  certainly  beautiful,  and  when  she  pouted, 
with  her  rich,  red  lips 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE          63 

"Wait  a  week,  dear,"  he  urged  nevertheless. 

"  Lend  me  the  money  now,  and  I'll  pay  it  back 
to  you  when  you  give  me  what  I  make  on  the 
deal,"  she  said,  with  fine  finality.  And  seeing 
hesitation  in  BoVs  face,  she  added,  solemnly : 
"  Honest,  I  will,  Bob.  Ill  pay  you  back  every 
cent,  this  time." 

"Fll  think  about  it,"  said  Bob.  He  always 
said  it  when  he  had  capitulated,  and  she  knew  it, 
and  so  she  said,  magnanimously :  "  Very  well, 
dear." 

Lindheim  thought  1,000  shares  would  do  it,  so 
he  decided  to  sell  a  thousand  the  next  day,  for 
you  can  never  tell  what  may  happen,  and  acci 
dents  seldom  help  the  bulls.  But  as  he  thought 
of  it  in  his  office  more  calmly,  more  deliberately, 
away  from  his  wife  and  from  the  influence  she  ex 
ercised  over  him,  it  struck  him  forcibly  that  it  was 
wrong  to  sell  1,000  shares  of  Turpentine  stock. 
He  might  as  well  as  not  make  it  2,500 ;  and  he 
did.  He  was  really  a  modest  fellow,  and  very 
young.  His  wife's  cousin  sold  the  stock  for  him, 
apparently  short. 

Total  breach  of  faith,  17,500  shares.  The 
market  stood  it  well.  Sharpe  was  certainly  a  won 
derful  chap. 

Unfortunately,  Morris  Steinfelder,  Jr.,  decided 


64  WALL  STREET  STORIES 

to  sell  1,500  "Turp,"  and  did  so.  The  stock 
actually  rose  a  half  point  on  his  sales.  So  he  sold 
another  1,500,  and,  as  a  sort  of  parting  shot,  500 
shares  more.  All  this  through  an  unsuspected 
broker. 

Total  breach  of  faith,  21,000  shares.  The 
market  was  but  slightly  affected. 

Then  Louis  Reis  of  Reis  &  Stern,  "  Andy " 
Fischel  of  Kohn,  Fischel  &  Co.,  Hugo  Zeman  of 
Zeman  Bros.,  and  "  Joe  "  Shaffran  of  Rosenthal, 
Shaffran  &  Co.,  all  thought  they  could  break 
their  pledges  to  Sharpe  with  impunity,  and  each 
sold,  to  be  on  the  safe  side.  This  last  lump  fig 
ured  up  as  follows : 


Sales  First 
Contemplated. 

Period  of 
Hesitancy. 

Actual  Sales. 

Louis  lie  is 

Shares. 
1,500 

Minutes. 
3 

Shares. 
2,600 

Andy  Fischel 

2,000 

15 

5,000 

Hugo  Zeman. 

1,000 

0 

1,000 

Joe  Shaffran  

500 

If 

1,800 

Total  breach  of  faith,  31,400  shares. 

The  market  did  not  take  it  well.  Sharpe,  en 
deavoring  to  realize  on  the  remainder  of  his  ma 
nipulative  purchases,  found  that  "  some  one  had 
been  there  before  him." 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE          65 

An  accurate  list  of  the  buyers  and  sellers  was 
sent  in  every  day  by  his  lieutenants,  for  all  but 
the  most  skilful  operators  invariably  betray  them 
selves  when  they  attempt  to  sell  a  big  block  of 
stock.  He  scanned  it  very  carefully  now,  and 
put  two  and  two  together ;  and  he  made  certain 
inquiries  and  put  four  and  four  together  —  four 
names  and  four  other  names.  He  saw  through 
the  time-worn  device  of  the  fictitious  short  selling. 
He  knew  the  only  people  who  would  dare  sell 
such  a  large  amount  must  be  his  colleagues.  He 
also  was  convinced  that  their  breach  of  faith  was 
not  a  concerted  effort,  because  if  they  had  dis 
cussed  the  matter  they  would  have  sold  a  smaller 
quantity.  He  knew  where  nearly  every  share  of 
the  stock  was.  It  was  his  business  to  know  every 
thing  about  it. 

"  Two,"  he  said  to  his  secretary,  "  may  play  at 
that  game."  And  he  began  to  play. 

By  seemingly  reckless,  plunging  purchases  he 
started  the  stock  rushing  upward  with  a  vengeance 
— 63,  64,  65,  66,  four  points  in  as  many  min 
utes.  The  floor  of  the  Stock  Exchange  was  the 
scene  of  the  wildest  excitement.  The  market  — 
why,  the  market  was  simply  Turpentine.  Every 
body  was  buying  it,  and  everybody  was  wonder 
ing  how  high  it  would  go,  Greenbaum  and  the 


66  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

other  seven  included.  It  looked  as  if  the  stock 
had  resumed  its  triumphant  march  to  par. 

Then  Sharpe  called  in  all  the  stock  his  brokers 
were  loaning  to  the  shorts,  and  he  himself  began 
to  borrow  it.  This,  together  with  the  legitimate 
requirements  of  the  big  short  interest,  created  a 
demand  so  greatly  in  excess  of  the  supply  that 
Turpentine  loaned  at  a  sixty-fourth,  at  a  thirty- 
second,  at  an  eighth,  and  finally  at  a  quarter  pre 
mium  over  night.  It  meant  that  the  shorts  had 
either  to  cover  or  to  pay  $£5  per  diem  for  the 
use  of  each  100  shares  of  stock  they  borrowed. 
On  the  31,400  shares  that  the  syndicate  was  bor 
rowing  it  meant  an  expense  of  nearly  $8,000  a 
day;  and  in  addition  the  stock  was  rising  in 
price.  The  shorts  were  losing  at  the  rate  of 
many  thousands  a  minute.  There  was  no  telling 
where  the  end  would  be,  but  it  certainly  looked 
stormy  for  both  the  real  and  the  fictitious  shorts. 

Mr.  Sharpe  sent  a  peremptory  message  to 
Greenbaum,  Lazarus  &  Co. ;  I.  &  M.  Wechsler ; 
Morris  Steinfelder's  Sons ;  Reis  &  Stern ;  Kohn, 
Fischel  &  Co. ;  Silberman  &  Lindheim ;  Rosen- 
thai,  Shaffran  &  Co. ;  and  Zeman  Bros.  It  was 
the  same  message  to  all : 

"  Send  me  at  once  all  your  Turpentine  stock ! " 

There  was  consternation  and  dismay,  also  ad- 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE          67 

miration  and  self-congratulation,  among  the  re 
cipients  of  the  message.  They  would  have  to  buy 
back  in  the  open  market  the  stock  they  had  sold 
a  few  days  before.  It  would  mean  losses  on  the 
treasonable  transactions  of  fully  a  quarter  of  a 
million,  but  the  pool  "  stood  to  win  "  simply  fab 
ulous  sums,  if  Mr.  Sharpe  did  his  duty. 

There  were  some  large  blocks  of  stock  for  sale 
at  66,  but  Sharpens  brokers  cleared  the  figures 
with  a  fierce,  irresistible  rush,  whooping  exultant 
ly.  The  genuine  short  interest  was  simply  panic- 
stricken,  and  atop  it  all  there  came  orders  to  buy 
an  aggregate  of  31,400  shares  —  orders  from 
Messrs.  Greenbaum,  Wechsler,  Lindheim,  Stein- 
felder,  Reis,  Fischel,  Shaffran,  and  Zeman.  The 
stock  rose  grandly  on  their  buying :  4,000  shares 
at  66  ;  2,200  at  66 1 ;  700  at  67f  ;  1,200  at  68  ; 
3,200  at  69J;  2,000  at  70  ;  5,700  at  70J ;  1,- 
200  at  72.  Total,  31,400  shares  bought  in  by 
the  "  Skindicate."  Total,  31,400  shares  sold  by 
Samuel  Wimbleton  Sharpe  to  his  own  associates 
in  the  great  Turpentine  pool.  In  all  he  found 
buyers  for  41,700  shares  that  day,  but  it  had 
taken  purchases  of  exactly  21,100  to  "stampede 
the  shorts  "  earlier  in  the  day,  and  in  addition  he 
held  17,800  shares  acquired  in  the  course  of  his 
bull  manipulation,  which  had  not  been  disposed  of 


V 
68  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

when  he  discovered  the  breach  of  faith,  so  that  at 
the  day^s  close  he  found  himself  not  only  without 
a  share  of  stock  manipulatively  purchased,  but 
"  short "  for  his  personal  account  of  2,800  shares. 

The  newspapers  published  picturesque  accounts 
of  the  "  Great  Day  in  Turpentine."  A  powerful 
clique,  they  said,  owned  so  much  of  the  stock 
—  had  "  cornered  "  it  —  that  they  could  easily 
mark  up  the  price  to  any  figure.  They  called  it 
a  "  memorable  squeeze."  It  was  hinted  also  that 
Mr.  Sharpe  had  been  on  the  wrong  side  of  the 
market,  and  one  paper  gave  a  wealth  of  details 
and  statistics  in  bold,  bad  type  to  prove  that  the 
wily  bear  leader  had  been  caught  short  of  75,000 
shares,  and  had  covered  at  a  loss  of  $1,500,000. 
A  newspaper  man  whose  relations  with  Sharpe 
were  intimate  asked  him,  very  carelessly :  "What 
the  deuce  caused  the  rise  in  Turpentine  ? "  and 
Sharpe  drawled  :  "  I  don't  know  for  a  certainty, 
but  I  rather  imagine  it  was  inside  buying ! " 

On  the  next  day  came  the  second  chapter  of 
the  big  Turpentine  deal.  Mr.  Sharpe,  having  re 
ceived  the  pool's  114,400  shares,  divided  it  into 
three  lots,  40,000  shares,  50,000  shares,  and  24,- 
400  shares.  The  market  had  held  fairly  strong, 
but  the  lynx-eyed  room  traders  failed  to  perceive 
the  usual  "  support "  in  "  Turp "  and  began  to 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE         69 

sell  it  in  order  to  make  sure.  There  was  enough 
commission-house  buying  and  belated  short- 
covering  to  keep  it  moderately  steady.  Then  the 
room  traders  redoubled  their  efforts  to  depress  it, 
by  selling  more  than  there  were  buying  orders 
for ;  also  by  selling  it  cheaper  than  was  warranted 
by  the  legitimate  demand  for  the  stock.  It  was 
a  favorite  trick  to  offer  to  sell  thousands  of  shares 
lower  than  people  were  willing  to  pay,  in  order  to 
frighten  the  timid  holders  and  make  them  sell ; 
which  in  turn  would  make  still  others  sell,  until 
the  movement  became  general  enough  to  cause  a 
substantial  fall. 

Slowly  the  price  began  to  yield.  All  that  was 
needed  was  a  leader.  Whereupon  Mr.  Sharpe 
took  the  first  lot  of  pool  stock,  40,000  shares, 
and  hurled  it  full  at  the  market.  The  impact  was 
terrible;  the  execution  appalling.  The  market 
reeled  crazily.  The  stock,  which  after  selling  up 
to  72J  had  "closed"  on  the  previous  day  at  71  f , 
dropped  twenty  points  and  closed  at  54.  The 
newspapers  said  that  the  corner  was  "busted11; 
that  the  "squeeze"  was  over.  Hundreds  of  people 
slept  ill  that  night.  Scores  did  not  sleep  at  all. 

On  the  next  day  he  fired  by  volleys  50,000 
shares  more  at  the  market.  The  stock  sank  to 
41J.  Such  a  break  was  almost  unprecedented. 


70  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

The  Street  asked  itself  if  it  were  not  on  the  eve 
of  a  crash  that  would  become  historic  in  a  district 
whose  chronology  is  reckoned  by  big  market 
movements. 

Greenbaum  rushed  to  Sharpens  office.  The  ter 
rible  break  gave  him  courage  to  do  anything.  A 
Wall  Street  worm  will  turn  when  the  market 
misbehaves  itself. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  angrily. 
"What  are  you  doing  to  Turpentine?" 

Sharpe  looked  him  full  in  the  face,  but  his 
voice  was  even  and  emotionless  as  he  replied: 
"Somebody  has  been  selling  on  us.  I  don't  know 
who.  I  wish  I  did.  I  was  afraid  I  might  have 
to  take  100,000  shares  more,  so  I  just  sold  as 
much  as  I  could.  IVe  marketed  most  of  the 
pool's  stock.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  jag  of 
stock  I  struck  around  60  and  62,  Turpentine 
would  be  selling  at  85  or  90  to-day.  Come 
again  next  week,  Greenbaum;  and  keep  cool. 
Did  you  ever  know  me  to  fail?  Good-by,  Green 
baum;  and  don't  raise  your  voice  when  you  speak 
to  me." 

"This  has  gone  too  far,"  said  Greenbaum, 
hotly.  "  You  must  give  me  an  explanation  or  by 
Heaven  I'll " 

"Greenbaum,"  said  Mr.  Sharpe,  in  a  listless 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE          71 

voice,  "don't  get  excited.  Good-by,  Greenbaum. 
Be  virtuous  and  you  will  be  happy."  And  he 
resumed  his  caged-tiger  pacing  up  and  down  his 
office.  As  by  magic,  Mr.  Sharpens  burly  private 
secretary  appeared,  and  said:  "This  way,  Mr. 
Greenbaum,"  and  led  the  dazed  Trust-maker  from 
the  office.  On  his  return  Sharpe  told  him: 
"  There  is  no  need  to  accuse  those  fellows  of 
breach  of  faith.  They'd  deny  it." 

The  next  day  Mr.  Sharpe  simply  poured  the 
remaining  25,000  shares  of  the  pool's  stock  on 
the  market  as  one  pours  water  from  a  pitcher  into 
a  cup.  The  bears  had  it  all  their  own  way.  The 
loquacious  tape  said,  ever  so  plainly:  "This  is 
nothing  but  inside  liquidation,  all  the  more 
dangerous  and  ominous  since  it  is  at  such  low 
figures  and  is  so  urgent  in  its  character.  Heaven 
alone  can  tell  where  it  will  end;  and  there  is  no 
telephone  communication  thither." 

Everybody  was  selling  because  somebody  had 
started  a  rumor  that  the  courts  had  dissolved  the 
company  for  gross  violation  of  the  Anti-Trust 
law,  and  that  a  receiver  had  been  appointed. 
Having  sold  out  the  last  of  the  pool's  stock,  Mr. 
Sharpe  "took  in"  at  $22  a  share  the  2,800  shares 
which  he  had  put  out  at  $72,  a  total  profit  on 
his  small  "line"  of  $140,000. 


72  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

Turpentine  stock  had  declined  fifty  points  in 
fifteen  business  hours.  It  meant  a  shrinkage  in 
the  market  value  of  the  company's  capital  stock 
of  $15,000,000.  The  shrinkage  in  the  self- 
esteem  of  some  of  the  pool  was  measurable  only 
in  billions. 

Sharpe  notified  his  associates  that  the  pool  had 
completely  realized  —  i.e.,  had  sold  out  —  and  that 
he  would  be  pleased  to  meet  them  at  his  office  on 
Monday  —  this  was  Thursday  —  at  eleven  A.M., 
when  he  would  have  checks  and  an  accounting 
ready  for  them.  He  refused  himself  to  Green- 
baum,  Wechsler,  Zeman,  Shaffran,  and  others 
who  called  to  see  what  could  be  done  to  save 
their  reputations  from  the  wreck  of  Turpentine. 
The  stalwart  private  secretary  told  them  that  Mr. 
Sharpe  was  out  of  town.  He  was  a  very  polite 
man,  was  the  secretary ;  and  an  amateur  boxer  of 
great  proficiency. 

Failing  to  find  Sharpe,  they  hastily  organized  a 
new  pool,  of  a  self-protective  character,  and  sent 
in  "supporting"  orders.  They  were  obliged  to 
take  large  quantities  of  stock  that  day  and  the 
next  in  order  to  prevent  a  worse  smash,  which 
would  hurt  them  in  other  directions.  They  found 
themselves  with  more  than  50,000  shares  on  their 
hands,  and  the  price  was  only  26  @  28.  And 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE          73 

merely  to  try  to  sell  the  stock  at  that  time 
threatened  to  start  a  fresh  Turpentine  panic. 

They  met  Sharpe  on  Monday.  His  speech  was 
not  so  short  as  usual.  He  had  previously  sent  to 
each  man  an  envelope  containing  a  check  and  a 
statement,  and  now  he  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact 
tone: 

"Gentlemen  and  Greenbaum,  you  all  know 
what  I  did  for  Turpentine  on  the  up- tack. 
Around  62  I  began  to  strike  some  stock  which  I 
couldn't  account  for.  I  knew  none  of  you  had 
any  for  sale,  of  course,  as  you  had  pledged  me 
your  honorable  words  not  to  sell,  save  through 
me.  But  the  stock  kept  coming  out,  even  though 
the  sellers  borrowed  against  it,  as  if  it  were  short 
stock,  and  I  began  to  fear  I  had  met  an  inex 
haustible  supply.  It  is  always  best  on  such 
occasions  to  act  promptly,  and  so,  after  driving  in 
the  real  shorts,  I  sold  out  our  stock.  The  average 
selling  price  was  40.  If  it  had  not  been  for  that 
mysterious  selling  it  would  have  been  80.  After 
commissions  and  other  legitimate  pool  expenses,  I 
find  we  have  made  nine  points  net,  or  $1,029,600, 
of  which  25  per  cent.,  or  $250,000,  come  to  me 
according  to  the  agreement.  It  is  too  bad  some 
people  didn^t  know  enough  to  hold  their  stock  for 
90.  But  I  find  Wall  Street  is  full  of  uncertain- 


74  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

ties  —  there  is  so  much  stupidity  in  the  district. 
I  trust  you  are  satisfied.  In  view  of  the  circum 
stances,  I  am.  Yes,  indeed.  Good-day,  gentle 
men;  and  you  too,  Greenbaum,  good-day.1 

There  was  nothing  tigerish  about  him.  He 
was  affable  and  polished;  they  could  see  that  he 
seemed  pleased  to  the  purring  point.  He  nodded 
to  them  and  went  into  his  inner  office. 

They  blustered  and  fumed  among  themselves 
and  gained  courage  thereby  and  tried  Sharpens 
door  and  found  it  locked.  They  knocked  thereon, 
vehemently,  and  the  ubiquitous  private  secretary 
came  out  and  told  them  that  Mr.  Sharpe  had  an 
important  engagement  and  could  not  be  disturbed, 
but  that  he  was  authorized  to  discuss  any  item  of 
the  statement,  and  he  had  charge  of  all  the 
vouchers,  in  the  shape  of  brokers'  reports,  etc. 
So  they  expressed  their  opinions  of  the  private 
secretary  and  of  his  master  rather  mildly,  and 
went  out,  crestfallen.  Outside  they  compared 
notes,  and  in  a  burst  of  honesty  they  confessed. 
Then,  illogically  enough,  they  cursed  Sharpe. 
The  pool  was  not  "ahead  of  the  game."  They 
had  so  much  more  stock  on  their  hands  than  they 
desired,  that  in  reality  they  were  heavy  losers! 

And  as  time  wore  on  they  had  to  buy  more 
"Turp";  and  more  "Turp";  and  still  more 


THE   BREAK   IN   TURPENTINE         75 

"Turp."  They  thought  they  could  emulate 
Sharpe  and  rush  the  price  up  irresistibly,  at  any 
rate  up  to  50.  They  declared  a  dividend  of  % 
per  cent  on  the  stock.  But  they  could  not 
market  Turpentine.  Again  and  again  they  tried, 
and  again  and  again  they  failed.  And  each  time 
the  failure  was  worse  because  they  had  to  take 
more  stock. 

It  is  now  quoted  at  16  @  18.  But  it  is  not 
readily  vendible  at  that  figure ;  nor,  indeed,  at  any 
price.  Opposition  distilleries  are  starting  up  in 
all  the  turpentine  districts,  and  the  trade  outlook 
is  gloomy.  And  the  principal  owners  of  the 
stock  of  the  American  Turpentine  Company, 
holding  among  them  not  less  than  140,000  out 
of  the  entire  issue  of  300,000  unvendible  shares, 
are  the  famous  "Greenbaum  Sk indicate." 


THE  TIPSTER 


THE  TIPSTER 

GILMARTIN  was  still  laughing  professionally  at  the 
prospective  buyer's  funny  story  when  the  telephone 
on  his  desk  buzzed.  He  said  :  "  Excuse  me  for  a 
minute,  old  man,"  to  the  customer  —  Hopkins, 
the  Connecticut  manufacturer. 

"  Hello  ;  who  is  this  ?  "  he  spoke  into  the  trans 
mitter.  "  Oh,  how  are  you  ?  — Yes  —  I  was  out 
—  Is  that  so  ?  —  Too  bad  —  Too  bad  —  Yes ;  just 
my  luck  to  be  out.  I  might  have  known  it !  — 
Do  you  think  so  ?  —  Well,  then,  sell  the  200  Oc 
cidental  common  —  You  know  best  —  What  about 
Trolley?  —  Hold  on?  —  All  right;  just  as  you 
say  —  I  hope  so  —  I  don't  like  to  lose,  and  —  Ha  ! 
Ha  !  —  I  guess  so  —  Good-by." 

"  It's  from  my  brokers,"  explained  Gilmartin, 
hanging  up  the  receiver.  "  I'd  have  saved  five  hun 
dred  dollars  if  I  had  been  here  at  half-past  ten. 
They  called  me  up  to  advise  me  to  sell  out,  and  the 
price  is  off  over  three  points.  I  could  have  got  out 
at  a  profit,  this  morning ;  but,  no  sir ;  not  I.  I 
had  to  be  away,  trying  to  buy  some  camphor." 

Hopkins  was  impressed.  Gilmartin  perceived 
it  and  went  on,  with  an  air  of  comical  wrath  which 
79 


80  WALL  STREET   STORIES 

he  thought  was  preferable  to  indifference :  "  It 
isn't  the  money  I  mind  so  much  as  the  tough  luck 
of  it.  I  didn't  make  my  trade  in  camphor  after 
all  and  I  lost  in  stocks,  when  if  I'd  only  waited 
five  minutes  more  in  the  office  I'd  have  got  the 
message  from  my  brokers  and  saved  my  five  hun 
dred.  Expensive,  my  time  is,  eh  ?  "  with  a  woful 
shake  of  the  head. 

"  But  you're  ahead  of  the  game,  aren't  you  ?  " 
asked  the  customer,  interestedly. 

"  Well,  I  guess  yes.  Just  about  twelve  thou 
sand." 

That  was  more  than  Gilmartin  had  made  ;  but 
having  exaggerated,  he  immediately  felt  very 
kindly  disposed  toward  the  Connecticut  man. 

"  Whew ! "  whistled  Hopkins,  admiringly. 
Gilmartin  experienced  a  great  tenderness  toward 
him.  The  lie  was  made  stingless  by  the  custom 
er's  credulity.  This  brought  a  smile  of  subtle  re 
lief  to  Gilmartin's  lips.  He  was  a  pleasant- faced, 
pleasant-voiced  man  of  three-and-thirty.  He  ex 
haled  health,  contentment,  neatness,  and  an  easy 
conscience.  Honesty  and  good-nature  shone  in 
his  eyes.  People  liked  to  shake  hands  with  him. 
It  made  his  friends  talk  of  his  lucky  star  ;  and 
they  envied  him. 

"  I  bought  this  yesterday  for  my  wife ;  took  it 


THE   TIPSTER  81 

out  of  a  little  deal  in  Trolley,"  he  told  Hopkins, 
taking  a  small  jewel-box  from  one  of  the  desk's 
drawers.  It  contained  a  diamond  ring,  somewhat 
showy  but  obviously  quite  expensive.  Hopkins' 
semi-envious  admiration  made  Gilmartin  add, 
genially :  "  What  do  you  say  to  lunch  ?  I  feel  I  am 
entitled  to  a  glass  of  '  fizz '  to  forget  my  bad  luck 
of  this  morning."  Then,  in  an  exaggeratedly 
apologetic  tone  :  "  Nobody  likes  to  lose  five  hun 
dred  dollars  on  an  empty  stomach  ! " 

"  Shell  be  delighted,  of  course,"  said  Hopkins, 
thinking  of  Mrs.  Gilmartin.  Mrs.  Hopkins  loved 
jewelry. 

"  She's  the  nicest  little  woman  that  ever  lived. 
Whatever  is  mine,  is  hers ;  and  what's  hers  is  her 
own.  Ha  !  Ha  !  But,"  becoming  nicely  serious, 
"  all  that  I'll  make  out  of  the  stock  market  I'm 
going  to  put  away  for  her,  in  her  name.  She  can 
take  better  care  of  it  than  I ;  and,  besides,  she's 
entitled  to  it,  anyhow,  for  being  so  nice  to  me." 

That  is  how  he  told  what  a  good  husband  he 
was.  He  felt  so  pleased  over  it,  that  he  went  on, 
sincerely  regretful :  "  She's  visiting  friends  in 
Pennsylvania  or  I'd  ask  you  to  dine  with  us." 
And  they  went  to  a  fashionable  restaurant 
together. 

Day  after  day  Gilmartin  thought  persistently 


82  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

that  Maiden  Lane  was  too  far  from  Wall  Street. 
There  came  a  week  in  which  he  could  have  made 
four  very  handsome  "  turns  "  had  he  but  been  in 
the  brokers'  office.  He  was  out  on  business  for 
his  firm  and  when  he  returned  the  opportunity 
had  gone,  leaving  behind  it  vivid  visions  of  what 
might  have  been ;  also  the  conviction  that  time, 
tide  and  the  ticker  wait  for  no  man.  Instead  of 
buying  and  selling  quinine  and  balsams  and  essen 
tial  oils  for  Maxwell  &  Kip,  drug  brokers  and  im 
porters,  he  decided  to  make  the  buying  and  selling 
of  stocks  and  bonds  his  exclusive  business.  The 
hours  were  easy  ;  the  profits  would  be  great.  He 
would  make  enough  to  live  on.  He  would  not 
let  the  Street  take  away  what  it  had  given.  That 
was  the  great  secret :  to  know  when  to  quit !  He 
would  be  content  with  a  moderate  amount,  wisely 
invested  in  gilt-edged  bonds.  And  then  he  would 
bid  the  Street  good-by  forever. 

Force  of  long  business  custom  and  the  indefi 
nable  fear  of  new  ventures  for  a  time  fought  suc 
cessfully  his  increasing  ticker- fever.  But  one  day 
his  brokers  wished  to  speak  to  him,  to  urge  him 
to  sell  out  his  entire  holdings,  having  been  advised 
of  an  epoch-making  resolution  by  Congress. 
They  had  received  the  news  in  advance  from  a 
Washington  customer.  Other  brokers  had  im- 


THE   TIPSTER  83 

portant  connections  in  the  Capital  and  therefore 
there  was  no  time  to  lose.  They  dared  not 
assume  the  responsibility  of  selling  him  out  with 
out  his  permission.  Five  minutes  —  five  eterni 
ties  !  —  passed  before  they  could  talk  by  tele 
phone  with  him ;  and  when  he  gave  his  order  to 
sell,  the  market  had  broken  five  or  six  points. 
The  news  was  "  out."  The  news-agencies'  slips 
were  in  the  brokers'  offices  and  half  of  Wall 
Street  knew.  Instead  of  being  among  the  first  ten 
sellers  Gilmartin  was  among  the  second  hundred. 

II. 

The  clerks  gave  him  a  farewell  dinner.  All 
were  there,  even  the  head  office-boy  to  whom  the 
two-dollar  subscription  was  no  light  matter.  The 
man  who  probably  would  succeed  Gilmartin  as 
manager,  Jenkins,  acted  as  toastmaster.  He 
made  a  witty  speech  which  ended  with  a  neatly 
turned  compliment.  Moreover,  he  seemed  sincerely 
sorry  to  bid  good-by  to  the  man  whose  departure 
meant  promotion  —  which  was  the  nicest  compli 
ment  of  all.  And  the  other  clerks  —  old  William 
son,  long  since  ambition-proof;  and  young  Hardy, 
bitten  ceaselessly  by  it ;  and  middle-aged  Jame 
son,  who  knew  he  could  run  the  business  much 
better  than  Gilmartin  ;  and  Baldwin,  who  never 


84  WALL  STREET  STORIES 

thought  of  business  in  or  out  of  the  office  —  all 
told  him  how  good  he  had  been  and  related  cor 
roborative  anecdotes  that  made  him  blush  and  the 
others  cheer ;  and  how  sorry  they  were  he  would 
no  longer  be  with  them,  but  how  glad  he  was  go 
ing  to  do  so  much  better  by  himself;  and  they 
hoped  he  would  not  "  cut "  them  when  he  met 
them  after  he  had  become  a  great  millionaire. 
And  Gilmartin  felt  his  heart  grow  soft  and  feel 
ings  not  all  of  happiness  came  over  him.  Danny, 
the  dean  of  the  office  boys,  whose  surname  was 
known  only  to  the  cashier,  rose  and  said,  in  the 
tones  of  one  speaking  of  a  dear  departed  friend : 
66  He  was  the  best  man  in  the  place.  He  always 
was  all  right."  Everybody  laughed  ;  whereupon 
Danny  went  on,  with  a  defiant  glare  at  the  others : 
"  Fd  work  for  him  for  nothin'  if  he'd  want  me, 
instead  of  gettin*  ten  a  week  from  anyone  else." 
And  when  they  laughed  the  harder  at  this  he  said, 
stoutly  :  "  Yes,  I  would  ! "  His  eyes  filled  with 
tears  at  their  incredulity,  which  he  feared  might 
be  shared  by  Mr.  Gilmartin.  But  the  toastmaster 
rose  very  gravely  and  said  :  "  What's  the  matter 
with  Danny  ? "  And  all  shouted  in  unison : 
"  He's  all  right ! "  with  a  cordiality  so  heartfelt 
that  Danny  smiled  and  sat  down,  blushing  hap 
pily.  And  crusty  Jameson,  who  knew  he  could 


THE  TIPSTER  85 

run  the  business  so  much  better  than  Gilmartin, 
stood  up  —  he  was  the  last  speaker  —  and  began  : 
"  In  the  ten  years  I've  worked  with  Gilmartin, 
we've  had  our  differences  and  —  well  —  I  —  well 
—  er  —  oh,  DAMN  IT  ! "  and  walked  quickly  to 
the  head  of  the  table  and  shook  hands  violently 
with  Gilmartin  for  fully  a  minute,  while  all  the 
others  looked  on  in  silence. 

Gilmartin  had  been  eager  to  go  to  Wall  Street. 
But  this  leave-taking  made  him  sad.  The  old 
Gilmartin  who  had  worked  with  these  men  was 
no  more  and  the  new  Gilmartin  felt  sorry.  He 
had  never  stopped  to  think  how  much  they  cared 
for  him  nor  indeed  how  very  much  he  cared  for 
them.  He  told  them,  very  simply,  he  did  not 
expect  ever  again  to  spend  such  pleasant  years 
anywhere  as  at  the  old  office ;  and  as  for  his 
spells  of  ill-temper  —  oh,  yes,  they  needn't  shake 
their  heads  ;  he  knew  he  often  was  irritable  —  he 
had  meant  well  and  trusted  they  would  forgive 
him.  If  he  had  his  life  to  live  over  again  he 
would  try  really  to  deserve  all  that  they  had  said 
of  him  on  this  evening.  And  he  was  very,  very 
sorry  to  leave  them.  "  Very  sorry,  boys ;  very 
sorry.  Very  sorry !  "  he  finished  lamely,  with  a 
wistful  smile.  He  shook  hands  with  each  man  — 
a  strong  grip  as  though  he  were  about  to  go  on  a 


86  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

journey  from  which  he  might  never  return  —  and 
in  his  heart  of  hearts  there  was  a  new  doubt  of 
the  wisdom  of  going  to  Wall  Street.  But  it  was 
too  late  to  draw  back. 

They  escorted  him  to  his  house.  They  wished 
to  be  with  him  to  the  last  possible  minute. 

m. 

Everybody  in  the  drug  trade  seemed  to  think 
that  Gilmartin  was  on  the  high  road  to  Fortune. 
Those  old  business  acquaintances  and  former  com 
petitors  whom  he  happened  to  meet  in  the  street 
cars  or  in  theatre  lobbies  always  spoke  to  him 
as  to  a  millionaire-to-be,  in  what  they  imagined 
was  correct  Wall  Street  jargon,  to  show  him  that 
they  too  knew  something  of  the  great  game.  But 
their  efforts  made  him  smile  with  a  sense  of  su 
periority,  at  the  same  time  that  their  admiration 
for  his  cleverness  and  their  good-natured  envy  for 
his  luck  made  his  soul  thrill  joyously.  Among 
his  new  friends  in  Wall  Street  also  he  found  much 
to  enjoy.  The  other  customers — some  of  them 
very  wealthy  men  —  listened  to  his  views  regard 
ing  the  market  as  attentively  as  he,  later,  felt  it 
his  polite  duty  to  listen  to  theirs.  The  brokers 
themselves  treated  him  as  n  "  good  fellow."  They 
cajoled  him  into  trading  often  —  every  one-hun- 


THE   TIPSTER  87 

dred  shares  he  bought  or  sold  meant  $12.50  to 
them  —  and  when  he  won,  they  praised  his  un 
erring  discernment.  When  he  lost  they  soothed 
him  by  scolding  him  for  his  recklessness  — just  as 
a  mother  will  treat  her  three-years-okTs  fall  as  a 
great  joke  in  order  to  deceive  the  child  into 
laughing  at  its  misfortune.  It  was  an  average 
office  with  an  average  clientele. 

From  ten  to  three  they  stood  before  the  quota 
tion  board  and  watched  a  quick-witted  boy  chalk 
the  price-changes,  which  one  or  another  of  the 
customers  read  aloud  from  the  tape  as  it  came 
from  the  ticker.  The  higher  stocks  went  the 
more  numerous  the  customers  became,  being  al 
lured  in  great  flocks  to  the  Street  by  the  tales  of 
their  friends,  who  had  profited  greatly  by  the  rise. 
All  were  winning,  for  all  were  buying  stocks  in  a 
bull  market.  They  resembled  each  other  marvel 
lously,  these  men  who  differed  so  greatly  in  cast 
of  features  and  complexion  and  age.  Life  to  all 
of  them  was  full  of  joy.  The  very  ticker  sounded 
mirthful ;  its  clicking  told  of  golden  jokes.  And 
Gilmartin  and  the  other  customers  laughed  heart 
ily  at  the  mildest  of  stories  without  even  waiting 
for  the  point  of  the  joke.  At  times  their  fingers 
clutched  the  air  happily,  as  if  they  actually  felt 
the  good  money  the  ticker  was  presenting  to 


88  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

them.  They  were  all  neophytes  at  the  great 
game  —  lambkins  who  were  bleating  blithely  to 
inform  the  world  what  clever  and  formidable 
wolves  they  were.  Some  of  them  had  sustained 
occasional  losses  ;  but  these  were  trifling  com 
pared  with  their  winnings. 

When  the  slump  came  all  were  heavily  com 
mitted  to  the  bull  side.  It  was  a  bad  slump.  It 
was  so  unexpected  —  by  the  lambs  —  that  all  of 
them  said,  very  gravely,  it  came  like  a  thunder 
clap  out  of  a  clear  sky.  While  it  lasted,  that  is, 
while  the  shearing  of  the  flock  was  proceeding,  it 
was  very  uncomfortable.  Those  same  joyous, 
winning  stock-gamblers,  with  beaming  faces,  of 
the  week  before,  were  fear-clutched,  losing  stock- 
gamblers,  with  livid  faces,  on  what  they  afterward 
called  the  day  of  the  panic.  It  really  was  only  a 
slump ;  rather  sharper  than  usual.  Too  many 
lambs  had  been  over-speculating.  The  wholesale 
dealers  in  securities  —  and  insecurities  —  held 
very  little  of  their  own  wares,  having  sold  them 
to  the  lambs,  and  wanted  them  back  now  — 
cheaper.  The  customers'  eyes,  as  on  happier  days 
were  intent  on  the  quotation  -  board.  Their 
dreams  were  rudely  shattered ;  the  fast  horses 
some  had  all  but  bought  joined  the  steam-yachts 
others  almost  had  chartered.  The  beautiful  homes 


THE  TIPSTER  89 

they  had  been  building  were  torn  down  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  And  the  demolisher  of 
dreams  and  dwellings  was  the  ticker,  that  instead 
of  golden  jokes,  was  now  clicking  financial  death. 
They  could  not  take  their  eyes  from  the  board 
before  them.  Their  own  ruin,  told  in  mournful 
numbers  by  the  little  machine,  fascinated  them. 
To  be  sure,  poor  Gilmartin  said  :  "  I've  changed 
my  mind  about  Newport.  I  guess  I'll  spend  the 
summer  on  my  own  Hotel  de  Roof!  "  And  he 
grinned ;  but  he  grinned  alone.  Wilson,  the  dry 
goods  man,  who  laughed  so  joyously  at  every 
body's  jokes,  was  now  watching,  as  if  under  a 
hypnotic  spell,  the  lips  of  the  man  who  sat  on 
the  high  stool  beside  the  ticker  and  called  out  the 
prices  to  the  quotation  boy.  Now  and  again 
Wilson's  own  lips  made  curious  grimaces,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself.  Brown,  the  slender,  pale- 
faced  man,  was  outside  in  the  hall,  pacing  to  and 
fro.  All  was  lost,  including  honor.  And  he  was 
afraid  to  look  at  the  ticker,  afraid  to  hear  the 
prices  shouted,  yet  hoping  —  for  a  miracle  !  Gil- 
martin  came  out  from  the  office,  saw  Brown  and 
said,  with  sickly  bravado :  "  I  held  out  as  long  as 
I  could.  But  they  got  my  ducats.  A  sporting 
life  comes  high,  I  tell  you !"  But  Brown  did  not 
heed  him  and  Gilmartin  pushed  the  elevator- 


90  WALL  STREET   STORIES 

button  impatiently  and  cursed  at  the  delay.  He 
not  only  had  lost  the  "paper"  profits  he  had 
accumulated  during  the  bull-market  but  all  his 
savings  of  years  had  crumbled  away  beneath  the 
strokes  of  the  ticker  that  day.  It  was  the  same 
with  all.  They  would  not  take  a  small  loss  at  first 
but  had  held  on,  in  the  hope  of  a  recovery  that 
would  "  let  them  out  even."  And  prices  had  sunk 
and  sunk  until  the  loss  was  so  great  that  it  seemed 
only  proper  to  hold  on,  if  need  be  a  year,  for 
sooner  or  later  prices  must  come  back.  But  the 
break  "  shook  them  out,"  and  prices  went  just  so 
much  lower  because  so  many  people  had  to  sell, 
whether  they  would  or  not. 

IV. 

After  the  slump  most  of  the  customers  returned 
to  their  legitimate  business  —  sadder,  but  it  is  to 
be  feared,  not  much  wiser  men.  Gilmartin,  after 
the  first  numbing  shock,  tried  to  learn  of  fresh 
opportunities  in  the  drug  business.  But  his  heart 
was  not  in  his  search.  There  was  the  shame  of 
confessing  defeat  in  Wall  Street  so  soon  after 
leaving  Maiden  Lane ;  but  far  stronger  than  this 
was  the  effect  of  the  poison  of  gambling.  If  it 
was  bad  enough  to  be  obliged  to  begin  lower  than 
he  had  been  at  Maxwell  &  Kip's,  it  was  worse  to 


THE   TIPSTER  91 

condemn  himself  to  long  weary  years  of  work  in 
the  drug  business  when  his  reward,  if  he  remained 
strong  and  healthy,  would  consist  merely  in  being 
able  to  save  a  few  thousands.  But  a  few  lucky 
weeks  in  the  stock  market  would  win  him  back  all 
he  had  lost  —  and  more  ! 

He  should  have  begun  in  a  small  way  while  he 
was  learning  to  speculate.  He  saw  it  now  very 
clearly.  Every  one  of  his  mistakes  had  been  due 
to  inexperience.  He  had  imagined  he  knew  the 
market.  But  it  was  only  now  that  he  really  knew 
it  and  therefore  it  was  only  now,  after  the  slump 
had  taught  him  so  much,  that  he  could  reasonably 
hope  to  succeed.  His  mind,  brooding  over  his 
losses,  definitely  dismissed  as  futile  the  resumption 
of  the  purchase  and  sale  of  drugs,  and  dwelt  per 
sistently  on  the  sudden  acquisition  of  stock  market 
wisdom.  Properly  applied,  this  wisdom  ought  to 
mean  much  to  him.  In  a  few  weeks  he  was  again 
spending  his  days  before  the  quotation  board, 
gossiping  with  those  customers  who  had  survived, 
giving  and  receiving  advice.  And  as  time  passed 
the  grip  of  Wall  Street  on  his  soul  grew  stronger 
until  it  strangled  all  other  aspirations.  He  could 
talk,  think,  dream  of  nothing  but  stocks.  He 
could  not  read  the  newspapers  without  thinking 
how  the  market  would  "  take"  the  news  contained 


92  WALL  STREET   STORIES 

therein.  If  a  huge  refinery  burnt  down,  with  a 
loss  to  the  "Trust"  of  $4,000,000,  he  sighed 
because  he  had  not  foreseen  the  catastrophe  and 
had  sold  Sugar  short.  If  a  strike  by  the  men  of 
the  Suburban  Trolley  Company  led  to  violence 
and  destruction  of  life  and  property,  he  cursed  an 
unrelenting  Fate  because  he  had  not  had  the  pre 
science  to  "  put  out"  a  thousand  shares  of  Trolley. 
And  he  constantly  calculated  to  the  last  fraction 
of  a  point  how  much  money  he  would  have  made 
if  he  had  sold  short  just  before  the  calamity  at 
the  very  top  prices  and  had  covered  his  stock  at 
the  bottom.  Had  he  only  known  !  The  atmos 
phere  of  the  Street,  the  odor  of  speculation  sur 
rounded  him  on  all  sides,  enveloped  him  like  a 
fog,  from  which  the  things  of  the  outside  world 
appeared  as  though  seen  through  a  veil.  He 
lived  in  the  district  where  men  do  not  say  "Good- 
morning"  on  meeting  one  another,  but  "How's  the 
market?"  or,  when  one  asks  :  "  How  do  you  feel  ?" 
receives  for  an  answer:  "Bullish!"  or  "Bearish!" 
instead  of  a  reply  regarding  the  state  of  health. 

At  first,  after  the  fatal  slump,  Gilmartin  im 
portuned  his  brokers  to  let  him  speculate  on 
credit,  in  a  small  way.  They  did.  They  were 
kindly  enough  men  and  sincerely  wished  to  help 
him.  But  luck  ran  against  him.  With  the  obsti- 


THE   TIPSTER  93 

nacy  of  unsuperstitious  gamblers  he  insisted  on 
fighting  Fate.  He  was  a  bull  in  a  bear  market ; 
and  the  more  he  lost  the  more  he  thought  the 
inevitable  "  rally  "  in  prices  was  due.  He  bought 
in  expectation  of  it  and  lost  again  and  again,  until 
he  owed  the  brokers  a  greater  sum  than  he  could 
possibly  pay ;  and  they  refused  point  blank  to 
give  him  credit  for  another  cent,  disregarding  his 
vehement  entreaties  to  buy  a  last  hundred,  just 
one  more  chance,  the  last,  because  he  would  be 
sure  to  win.  And,  of  course,  the  long-expected 
happened  and  the  market  went  up  with  a  rapidity 
that  made  the  Street  blink  ;  and  Gilmartin  figured 
that  had  not  the  brokers  refused  his  last  order,  he 
would  have  made  enough  to  pay  off  the  indebted 
ness  and  have  left,  in  addition,  $2,950 ;  for  he 
would  have  "pyramided"  on  the  way  up.  He 
showed  the  brokers  his  figures,  accusingly,  and 
they  had  some  words  about  it  and  he  left  the 
office,  almost  tempted  to  sue  the  firm  for  con 
spiracy  with  intent  to  defraud ;  but  decided  that 
it  was  "  another  of  Luck's  sockdolagers"  and  let  it 
go  at  that,  gambler-like. 

When  he  returned  to  the  brokers'  office  —  the 
next  day  —  he  began  to  speculate  in  the  only  way 
he  could  —  vicariously.  Smith,  for  instance,  who 
was  long  of  500  St.  Paul  at  125,  took  less  inter- 


94  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

est  in  the  deal  than  did  Gilmartin  who  thenceforth 
assiduously  studied  the  news-slips  and  sought  in 
formation  on  St.  Paul  all  over  the  Street,  listen 
ing  thrillingly  to  tips  and  rumors  regarding  the 
stock,  suffering  keenly  when  the  price  declined, 
laughing  and  chirruping  blithely  if  the  quota 
tions  moved  upward,  exactly  as  though  it  were 
his  own  stock.  In  a  measure  it  was  as  an  ano 
dyne  to  his  ticker-fever.  Indeed,  in  some  cases 
his  interest  was  so  poignant  and  his  advice  so  fre 
quent  —  he  would  speak  of  our  deal  —  that  the 
lucky  winner  gave  him  a  small  share  of  his  spoils, 
which  Gilmartin  accepted  without  hesitation  — 
he  was  beyond  pride-wounding  by  now  —  and 
promptly  used  to  back  some  miniature  deal  of  his 
own  on  the  Consolidated  Exchange  or  even  in 
"  Percy  V — a  dingy  little  bucket-shop,  where 
they  took  orders  for  two  shares  of  stock  on  a 
margin  of  one  per  cent.;  that  is,  where  a  man 
could  bet  as  little  as  two  dollars. 

Later,  it  often  came  to  pass  that  Gilmartin 
would  borrow  a  few  dollars,  when  the  customers 
were  not  trading  actively.  The  amounts  he  bor 
rowed  diminished  by  reason  of  the  increasing  fre 
quency  of  their  refusals.  Finally,  he  was  asked 
to  stay  away  from  the  office  where  once  he  had 
been  an  honored  and  pampered  customer. 


THE  TIPSTER  95 

He  became  a  Wall  Street  "has  been"  and 
could  be  seen  daily  on  New  Street,  back  of  the 
Consolidated  Exchange,  where  the  "put"  and 
"call"  brokers  congregate.  The  tickers  in  the 
saloons  nearby  fed  his  gambler's  appetite.  From 
time  to  time  luckier  men  took  him  into  the  same 
be-tickered  saloons,  where  he  ate  at  the  free  lunch 
counters  and  drank  beer  and  talked  stocks  and 
listened  to  the  lucky  winners'  narratives  with  lips 
tremulous  with  readiness  to  smile  and  grimace. 
At  times  the  gambler  in  him  would  assert  itself 
and  he  would  tell  the  lucky  winners,  wrathfully, 
how  the  stock  he  wished  to  buy  but  couldn't  the 
week  before,  had  risen  18  points.  But  they* 
saturated  with  their  own  ticker-fever,  would  nod 
absently,  their  soul's  eyes  fixed  on  some  quotation- 
to-be  ;  or  they  would  not  nod  at  all  but  in  their 
eagerness  to  look  at  the  tape  from  which  they  had 
been  absent  two  long  minutes,  would  leave  him 
without  a  single  word  of  consolation  or  even  of 
farewell. 

V. 

One  day,  in  New  Street,  he  overheard  a  very 
well  known  broker  tell  another  that  Mr.  Sharpe 
was  "going  to  move  up  Pennsylvania  Central 
right  away."  The  over-hearing  of  the  conversa- 


96  WALL   STREET  STORIES 

tion  was  a  bit  of  rare  good  luck  that  raised  Gil- 
martin  from  his  sodden  apathy  and  made  him 
hasten  to  his  brother-in-law  who  kept  a  grocery 
store  in  Brooklyn.  He  implored  Griggs  to  go  to 
a  broker  and  buy  as  much  Pennsylvania  Central 
as  he  could  —  that  is,  if  he  wished  to  live  in 
luxury  the  rest  of  his  life.  Sam  Sharpe  was  going 
to  put  it  up.  Also,  he  borrowed  ten  dollars. 

Griggs  was  tempted.  He  debated  with  him 
self  many  hours,  and  at  length  yielded  with  mis 
givings.  He  took  his  savings  and  bought  one 
hundred  shares  of  Pennsylvania  Central  at  64  and 
began  to  neglect  his  business  in  order  to  study 
the  financial  pages  of  the  newspapers.  Little  by 
little  Gilmartin's  whisper  set  in  motion  within 
him  the  wheels  of  a  ticker  that  printed  on  his 
day-dreams  the  mark  of  the  dollar.  His  wife,  see 
ing  him  preoccupied,  thought  business  was  bad ; 
but  Griggs  denied  it,  confirming  her  worst  fears. 
Finally,  he  had  a  telephone  put  in  his  little  shop, 
to  be  able  to  talk  to  his  brokers. 

Gilmartin,  with  the  ten  dollars  he  had  bor 
rowed,  promptly  bought  ten  shares  in  a  bucket 
shop  at  63£  ;  the  stock  promptly  went  to  62 f  ; 
he  was  promptly  "  wiped " ;  and  the  stock 
promptly  went  back  to  64J. 

On  the  next  day  a  fellow-customer  of  the  Gil- 


THE  TIPSTER  97 

martin  of  old  days  invited  him  to  have  a  drink. 
Gilmartin  resented  the  man's  evident  prosperity. 
He  felt  indignant  at  the  ability  of  the  other  to 
buy  hundreds  of  shares.  But  the  liquor  soothed 
him,  and  in  a  burst  of  mild  remorse  he  told 
Smithers,  after  an  apprehensive  look  about  him 
as  if  he  feared  someone  might  overhear :  "  I'll 
tell  you  something,  on  the  dead  q.  t.,  for  your 
own  benefit." 

"  Fire  away  ! " 

"  Pa.  Cent,  is  going  Vay  up." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Smithers,  calmly. 

"  Yes ;  it  will  cross  par  sure." 

"  Umph  !  "  between  munches  of  a  pretzel. 

"  Yes.  Sam  Sharpe  told  " —  Gilmartin  was  on 
the  point  of  saying  a  "friend  of  mine"  but 
caught  himself  and  went  on,  impressively —  "  told 
me,  yesterday,  to  buy  Pa.  Cent,  as  he  had  accu 
mulated  his  full  line,  and  was  ready  to  whoop  it 
up.  And  you  know  what  Sharpe  is,"  he  finished, 
as  if  he  thought  Smithers  was  familiar  with 
Sharpens  powers. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  nibbled  Smithers. 

"Why,  when  Sharpe  makes  up  his  mind  to  put 
up  a  stock,  as  he  intends  to  do  with  Pa.  Cent., 
nothing  on  earth  can  stop  him.  He  told  me  he 
would  make  it  cross  par  within  sixty  days.  This 


98  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

is  no  heresay,  no  tip.  It's  cold  facts.  I  don't 
hear  it's  going  up  ;  I  don't  think  it's  going  up  ;  I 
know  it's  going  up.  Understand  ? "  And  he 
shook  his  right  forefinger  with  a  hammering  mo 
tion. 

In  less  than  five  minutes  Smithers  was  so 
wrought  up  that  he  bought  500  shares  and  prom 
ised  solemnly  not  to  "take  his  profits,"  i.e.  sell 
out,  until  Gilmartin  said  the  word.  Then  they 
had  another  drink  and  another  look  at  the 
ticker. 

"  You  want  to  keep  in  touch  with  me,'"1  was 
Gilmartin's  parting  shot.  "I'll  tell  you  what 
Sharpe  tells  me.  But  you  must  keep  it  quiet," 
with  a  side-wise  nod  that  pledged  Smithers  to 
honorable  secrecy. 

Had  Gilmartin  met  Sharpe  face  to  face,  he 
would  not  have  known  who  was  before  him. 

Shortly  after  he  left  Smithers  he  buttonholed 
another  acquaintance,  a  young  man  who  thought 
he  knew  Wall  Street,  and  therefore  had  a  hobby 
—  manipulation.  No  one  could  induce  him  to 
buy  stocks  by  telling  him  how  well  the  companies 
were  doing,  how  bright  the  prospects,  etc.  That 
was  bait  for  "  suckers  "  not  for  clever  young  stock 
operators.  But  anyone,  even  a  stranger,  who  said 
that  "they"  —  the  perennially  mysterious  "they," 


THE   TIPSTER  99 

the  "  big  men,11  the  mighty  "  manipulators  "  whose 
life  was  one  prolonged  conspiracy  to  pull  the  wool 
over  the  public's  eyes  —  "they"  were  going  to 
"jack  up"  these  or  the  other  shares,  was  wel 
comed,  and  his  advice  acted  upon.  Young  Free 
man  believed  in  nothing  but  "  their  "  wickedness 
and  "  their "  power  to  advance  or  depress  stock 
values  at  will.  Thinking  of  his  wisdom  had  given 
him  a  chronic  sneer. 

"You're  just  the  man  I  was  looking  for,"  said 
Gilmartin,  who  hadn't  thought  of  the  young 
man  at  all. 

"Are  you  a  deputy  sheriff?" 

"No."  A  slight  pause,  for  oratorical  effect. 
"  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Sam  to-day." 

"  What  Sam  ?  " 

"  Sharpe.  The  old  boy  sent  for  me.  He  was 
in  mighty  good -humor  too.  Tickled  to  death. 
He  might  well  be  —  he's  got  60,000  shares  of 
Pennsylvania  Central.  And  there's  going  to  be 
from  50  to  60  points  profit  in  it." 

"  H'm  !  "  sniffed  Freeman,  skeptically,  yet  im 
pressed  by  the  change  in  Gilmartin's  attitude 
from  the  money-borrowing  humility  of  the  pre 
vious  week  to  the  confident  tone  of  a  man  with  a 
straight  tip.  Sharpe  was  notoriously  kind  to  his 
old  friends  —  rich  or  poor. 


100  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

"  I  was  there  when  the  papers  were  signed," 
Gilmartin  said,  hotly.  "  I  was  going  to  leave  the 
room,  but  Sam  told  me  I  needn't.  I  can't  tell 
you  what  it  is  about ;  really  I  can't.  But  he's 
simply  going  to  put  the  stock  above  par.  It's 
64  J  now,  and  you  know  and  I  know  that  by  the 
time  it  is  75  the  newspapers  will  all  be  talking 
about  inside  buying ;  and  at  85  everybody  will 
want  to  buy  it  on  account  of  important  develop 
ments  ;  and  at  95  there  will  be  millions  of  bull 
tips  on  it  and  rumors  of  increased  dividends,  and 
people  who  would  not  look  at  it  thirty  points 
lower  will  rush  in  and  buy  it  by  the  bushel.  Let 
me  know  who  is  manipulating  a  stock,  and  to 
h  —  1  with  dividends  and  earnings.  Them's  my 
sentiments,"  with  a  final  hammering  nod,  as  if 
driving  in  a  profound  truth. 

"  Same  here,"  assented  Freeman,  cordially.  He 
was  attacked  on  his  vulnerable  side. 

Strange  things  happen  in  Wall  Street.  Some 
times  tips  come  true.  It  so  proved  in  this  case. 
Sharpe  started  the  stock  upward  brilliantly  —  the 
movement  became  historic  in  the  Street  —  and 
Pa.  Cent,  soared  dizzily  and  all  the  newspapers 
talked  of  it  and  the  public  went  mad  over  it  and 
it  touched  80  and  85  and  88  and  higher,  and 
then  Gilmartin  made  his  brother-in-law  sell  out 


THE  TIPSTER  i(tt 

and  Smithers  and  Freeman.  Their  profits  were  : 
Griggs,  $3,000;  Smithers,  $15,100;  Freeman, 
$2,750.  Gilmartin  made  them  give  him  a  good 
percentage.  He  had  no  trouble  with  his  brother- 
in-law.  Gilmartin  told  him  it  was  an  inviolable 
Wall  Street  custom  and  so  Griggs  paid,  with  an 
air  of  much  experience  in  such  matters.  Freeman 
was  more  or  less  grateful.  But  Smithers  met 
Gilmartin  and  full  of  his  good  luck  repeated  what 
he  had  told  a  dozen  men  within  the  hour  :  "  I  did 
a  dandy  stroke  the  other  day.  Pa.  Cent,  looked  to 
me  like  higher  prices  and  I  bought  a  wad  of  it. 
Fve  cleaned  up  a  tidy  sum,"  and  he  looked  proud 
of  his  own  penetration.  He  really  had  forgotten 
that  it  was  Gilmartin  who  had  given  him  the  tip. 
But  not  so  Gilmartin  who  retorted,  witheringly : 

"  Well,  I've  often  heard  of  folks  that  you  put 
into  good  things  and  they  make  money  and  after 
ward  they  come  to  you  and  tell  how  damned 
smart  they  were  to  hit  it  right.  But  you  cai^t 
work  that  on  me.  Fve  got  witnesses." 

"Witnesses  ?  "  echoed  Smithers,  looking  cheap. 
He  remembered. 

"  Yes,  wit-ness-es,"  mimicked  Gilmartin, 
scornfully.  "  I  all  but  had  to  get  on  my  knees 
to  make  you  buy  it.  And  I  told  you  when  to 
sell  it,  too.  The  information  came  to  me  straight 


WALL   STREET   STORIES 

from  headquarters  and  you  got  the  use  of  it  and 
now  the  least  you  can  do  is  to  give  me  twenty- 
five  hundred  dollars." 

In  the  end  he  accepted  $800.  He  told  mutual 
friends  that  Smithers  had  cheated  him. 

VI. 

It  seemed  as  though  the  regeneration  of  Gil- 
martin  had  been  achieved  when  he  changed  his 
shabby  raiment  for  expensive  clothes.  He  paid 
his  tradesmen's  bills  and  moved  into  better 
quarters.  He  spent  his  money  as  though  he  had 
made  millions.  One  week  after  he  had  closed 
out  the  deal  his  friends  would  have  sworn  Gil- 
martin  had  always  been  prosperous.  That  was 
his  exterior.  His  inner  self  remained  the  same 
—  a  gambler.  He  began  to  speculate  again,  in 
the  office  of  Freeman's  brokers. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  month  he  had  lost 
not  only  the  $1,200  he  had  deposited  with  the 
firm,  but  an  additional  $250  he  had  given  his 
wife  and  had  been  obliged  to  "  borrow "  back 
from  her,  despite  her  assurances  that  he  would 
lose  it.  This  time,  the  slump  was  really  unex 
pected  by  all,  even  by  the  magnates  —  the  mys 
terious  and  all  powerful  "  they  "  of  Freeman's  — 
so  that  the  loss  of  the  second  fortune  did  not 


THE   TIPSTER  103 

reflect  on  Gilmartin's  ability  as  a  speculator  but 
on  his  luck.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  been 
too  careful  and  had  sinned  from  over-timidity  at 
first,  only  to  plunge  later  and  lose  all. 

As  the  result  of  much  thought  about  his  losses 
Gilmartin  became  a  professional  tipster.  To 
let  others  speculate  for  him  seemed  the  only 
sure  way  of  winning.  He  began  by  advising  ten 
victims  —  he  learned  in  time  to  call  them  clients 
—  to  sell  Steel  Rod  preferred,  each  man  100 
shares ;  and  to  a  second  ten  he  urged  the  pur 
chase  of  the  same  quantity  of  the  same  stock. 
To  all  he  advised  taking  four  points'  profit.  Not 
all  followed  his  advice,  but  the  seven  clients  who 
sold  it  made  between  them  nearly  $3,000  over 
night.  His  percentage  amounted  to  $287.50. 
Six  bought  and  when  they  lost  he  told  them  con 
fidentially  how  the  treachery  of  a  leading  member 
of  the  pool  had  obliged  the  pool  managers  to 
withdraw  their  support  from  the  stock  tempora 
rily  ;  whence  the  decline.  They  grumbled ;  but  he 
assured  them  that  he  himself  had  lost  nearly 
$1,600  of  his  own  on  account  of  the  traitor. 

For  some  months  Gilmartin  made  a  fair  living 
but  business  became  very  dull.  People  learned 
to  fight  shy  of  his  tips.  The  persuasiveness  was 
gone  from  his  inside  news  and  from  his  confiden- 


104  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

tial  advice  from  Sharpe  and  from  his  beholding 
with  his  own  eyes  the  signing  of  epoch-making 
documents.  Had  he  been  able  to  make  his  cus 
tomers  alternate  their  winnings  and  losses  he 
might  have  kept  his  trade.  But  for  example, 
"Dave"  Rossiter,  in  Stuart  &  Stern's  office,  stu 
pidly  received  the  wrong  tip  six  times  in  succes 
sion.  It  wasn't  Gilmartin's  fault  but  Rossiter's 
bad  luck. 

At  length  failing  to  get  enough  clients  in  the 
ticker-district  itself  Gilmartin  was  forced  to  ad 
vertise  in  an  afternoon  paper,  six  times  a  week, 
and  in  the  Sunday  edition  of  one  of  the  leading 
morning  dailies.  They  ran  like  this  : 

WE   MAKE   MONEY 

for  our  investors  by  the  best  system  ever  devised.  Deal 
with  genuine  experts.  Two  methods  of  operating;  one 
speculative,  the  other  insures  absolute  safety. 


NOW 

is  the  time  to  invest  in  a  certain  stock  for  ten  points  sure 
profit.  Three  points  margin  will  carry  it.  Remember  how 
correct  we  have  been  on  other  stocks.  Take  advantage 
of  this  move.  

IOWA   MIDLAND. 

Big  movement  coming  in  this  stock.  It's  very  near  at  hand. 
Am  waiting  daily  for  word.  Will  get  it  in  time.  Splendid 
opportunity  to  make  big  money.  It  costs  only  a  2-cent 
stamp  to  write  to  me, 


THE  TIPSTER  105 

CONFIDENTIAL  INFORMATION. 

Private  secretary  of  banker  and  stock  operator  of  world-wide 
reputation,  has  valuable  information.  I  don't  wish  your 
money.  Use  your  own  broker.  All  I  want  is  a  share  of 
what  you  will  surely  make  if  you  follow  my  advice. 


WILL  ADVANCE  $40  PER  SHARE. 

A  fortune  to  be  made  in  a  railroad  stock.  Deal  pending 
which  will  advance  same  $40  per  share  within  three  months. 
Am  in  position  to  keep  informed  as  to  developments  and 
the  operations  of  a  pool.  Parties  who  will  carry  for  me  100 
shares  with  a  New  York  Stock  Exchange  house  will 
receive  the  full  benefit  of  information.  Investment  safe  and 
sure.  Highest  references  given. 

He  prospered  amazingly.  Answers  came  to 
him  from  furniture  dealers  on  Fourth  Avenue  and 
dairymen  up  the  State  and  fruit  growers  in  Dela 
ware  and  factory  workers  in  Massachusetts  and 
electricians  in  New  Jersey  and  coal  miners  in 
Pennsylvania  and  shop  keepers  and  physicians  and 
plumbers  and  undertakers  in  towns  and  cities  near 
and  far.  Every  morning  Gilmartin  telegraphed  to 
scores  of  people  —  at  their  expense  —  to  sell,  and 
to  scores  of  others  to  buy  the  same  stocks.  And 
he  claimed  his  commissions  from  the  winners. 

Little  by  little  his  savings  grew;  and  with 
them  grew  his  desire  to  speculate  on  his  own 
account.  It  made  him  irritable,  not  to  gamble. 

He  met  Freeman  one  day  in  one  of  his  dissat- 


106  WALL  STREET   STORIES 

isfied  moods.  Out  of  politeness  he  asked  the 
young  cynic  the  universal  query  of  the  Street : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  'em  ? "  He  meant 
stocks. 

"  What  difference  does  it  make  what  /  think  ?  " 
sneered  Freeman,  with  proud  humility.  "I'm 
nobody."  But  he  looked  as  if  he  did  not  agree 
with  himself. 

"What  do  you  know?"  pursued  Gilmartin, 
mollifyingly. 

"  I  know  enough  to  be  long  of  Gotham  Gas. 
I  just  bought  a  thousand  shares  at  180."  He 
really  had  bought  a  hundred  only. 

"What  on?" 

"On  information.  I  got  it  straight  from  a 
director  of  the  company.  Look  here,  Gilmartin, 
I'm  pledged  to  secrecy.  But,  for  your  own  bene 
fit,  I'll  just  tell  you  to  buy  all  the  Gas  you  possi 
bly  can  carry.  The  deal  is  on.  I  know  that 
certain  papers  were  signed  last  night,  and  they 
are  almost  ready  to  spring  it  on  the  public.  They 
haven't  got  all  the  stock  they  want.  When  they 
get  it,  look  out  for  fireworks." 

Gilmartin  did  not  perceive  any  resemblance  be 
tween  Freeman's  tips  and  his  own.  He  said,  hes 
itatingly,  as  though  ashamed  of  his  timidity  : 

"The  stock  seems  pretty  high  at  180." 


THE   TIPSTER  107 

"You  won't  think  so  when  it  sells  at  250. 
Gilmartin,  I  don't  hear  this ;  I  don't  think  it ;  I 
know  it ! " 

"  All  right ;  I'm  in,"  quoth  Gilmartin,  jovially. 
He  felt  a  sense  of  emancipation  now  that  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  resume  his  speculating.  He 
took  every  cent  of  the  nine  hundred  dollars  he 
had  made  from  telling  people  the  same  things 
that  Freeman  told  him  now,  and  bought  a  hundred 
Gotham  Gas  at  $185  a  share.  Also  he  tele 
graphed  to  all  his  clients  to  plunge  in  the  stock. 

It  fluctuated  between  184  and  186  for  a  fort 
night.  Freeman  daily  asseverated  that  "  they  " 
were  accumulating  the  stock.  But,  one  fine  day, 
the  directors  met,  agreed  that  business  was  bad 
and  having  sold  out  most  of  their  own  holdings, 
decided  to  reduce  the  dividend  rate  from  8  to  6 
per  cent.  Gotham  Gas  broke  seventeen  points  in 
ten  short  minutes.  Gilmartin  lost  all  he  had. 
He  found  it  impossible  to  pay  for  his  advertise 
ments.  The  telegraph  companies  refused  to  ac 
cept  any  more  "collect"  messages.  This  de 
prived  Gilmartin  of  his  income  as  a  tipster. 
Griggs  had  kept  on  speculating  and  had  lost  all 
his  money  and  his  wife's  in  a  little  deal  in  Iowa 
Midland.  All  that  Gilmartin  could  hope  to  get 
from  him  was  an  occasional  invitation  to  dinner. 


108  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

Mrs.  Gilmartin,  after  they  were  dispossessed  for 
non-payment  of  rent,  left  her  husband  and  went 
to  live  with  a  sister  in  Newark  who  did  not  like 
Gilmartin. 

His  clothes  became  shabby  and  his  meals  irreg 
ular.  But  always  in  his  heart,  as  abiding  as  an 
inventor's  faith  in  himself,  there  dwelt  the  hope 
that  some  day,  somehow,  he  would  "strike  it 
rich"  in  the  stock  market. 

One  day  he  borrowed  five  dollars  from  a  man 
who  had  made  five  thousand  in  Cosmopolitan 
Traction.  The  stock,  the  man  said,  had  only 
begun  to  go  up,  and  Gilmartin  believed  it  and 
bought  five  shares  in  "  Percy's,"  his  favorite 
bucket-shop.  The  stock  began  to  rise  slowly 
but  steadily.  The  next  afternoon  "  Percy's  "  was 
raided,  the  proprietor  having  disagreed  with  the 
police  as  to  price. 

Gilmartin  lingered  about  New  Street,  talking 
with  other  customers  of  the  raided  bucket  shop, 
discussing  whether  or  not  it  was  a  "put  up  job" 
of  old  Percy  himself  who,  it  was  known,  had  been 
losing  money  to  the  crowd  for  weeks  past.  One 
by  one  the  victims  went  away  and  at  length  Gil- 
martin  left  the  ticker  district.  He  walked  slowly 
down  Wall  Street,  then  turned  up  William 
Street,  thinking  of  his  luck.  Cosmopolitan  Trac- 


THE  TIPSTER  109 

tion  had  certainly  looked  like  higher  prices.  In 
deed,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  almost  hear 
the  stock  shouting,  articulately :  "  Fm  going  up, 
right  away^  right  awayi^  If  somebody  would 
buy  a  thousand  shares  and  agree  to  give  him  the 
profits  on  a  hundred,  on  ten,  on  one ! 

But  he  had  not  even  his  carfare.  Then  he  re 
membered  that  he  had  not  eaten  since  breakfast. 
It  did  him  no  good  to  remember  it  now.  He 
would  have  to  get  his  dinner  from  Griggi  in 
Brooklyn. 

"  Why,"  Gilmartin  told  himself  with  a  burst 
of  curious  self-contempt,  "  I  can't  even  buy  a  cup 
of  coffee!" 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  about  him  to 
find  how  insignificant  a  restaurant  it  was  in  which 
he  could  not  buy  even  a  cup  of  coffee.  He  had 
reached  Maiden  Lane.  As  his  glance  ran  up  and 
down  the  north  side  of  that  street,  it  was  arrested 
by  the  sign : 

MAXWELL  &   KIP. 

At  first  he  felt  but  vaguely  what  it  meant.  It 
had  grown  unfamiliar  with  absence.  The  clerks 
were  coming  out.  Jameson,  looking  crustier  than 
ever,  as  though  he  were  forever  thinking  how 
much  better  than  Jenkins  he  could  run  the  busi- 


110  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

ness ;  Danny,  some  inches  taller,  no  longer  an 
office  boy  but  spick  and  span  in  a  blue  serge  suit 
and  a  necktie  of  the  latest  style,  exhaling  health 
and  correctness ;  Williamson,  grown  very  gray 
and  showing  on  his  face  thirty  years  of  routine  ; 
Baldwin,  happy  as  of  yore  at  the  ending  of  the 
day's  work,  and  smiling  at  the  words  of  Jenkins 
—  Gilmartin's  successor  who  wore  an  air  of  au 
thority,  of  the  habit  of  command  which  he  had 
not  known  in  the  old  days. 

Of  a  sudden  Gilmartin  was  in  the  midst  of  his 
old  life.  He  saw  all  that  he  had  been,  all  that  he 
might  still  be.  And  he  was  overwhelmed.  He 
longed  to  rush  to  his  old  associates,  to  speak  to 
them,  to  shake  hands  with  them,  to  be  the  old 
Gilmartin.  He  was  about  to  step  toward 
Jenkins ;  but  stopped  abruptly.  His  clothes 
were  shabby  and  he  felt  ashamed.  But,  he 
apologized  to  himself,  he  could  tell  them  how  he 
had  made  a  hundred  thousand  and  had  lost  it. 
And  he  even  might  borrow  a  few  dollars  from 
Jenkins. 

Gilmartin  turned  on  his  heel  with  a  sudden  im 
pulse  and  walked  away  from  Maiden  Lane  quick 
ly.  All  that  he  thought  now  was  that  he  would 
not  have  them  see  him  in  his  plight.  He  felt  the 
shabbiness  of  his  clothes  without  looking  at  them. 


THE   TIPSTER  111 

As  he  walked,  a  great  sense  of  loneliness  cam«e 
over  him. 

He  was  back  in  Wall  Street.  At  the  head  of 
the  Street  was  old  Trinity;  to  the  right  the  sub- 
Treasury;  to  the  left  the  Stock  Exchange. 

From  Maiden  Lane  to  the  Lane  of  the  Ticker 
—  such  had  been  his  life. 

"  If  I  could  only  buy  some  Cosmopolitan  Trac 
tion  ! "  he  said.  Then  he  walked  forlornly  north 
ward,  to  the  great  Bridge,  on  his  way  to  Brook 
lyn  to  eat  with  Griggs,  the  ruined  grocery-man. 


A  PHILANTHROPIC   WHISPER 


A  PHILANTHROPIC  WHISPER 

THERE  have  been  all  manner  of  big  stock  opera 
tors  and  "  leaders  "  in  Wall  Street  —  gentlemanly, 
well-educated  leaders  with  a  gift  of  epigram  and 
foul-spoken  leaders  who  knew  as  little  of  grammar 
as  of  manners  ;  leaders  to  whom  the  stock  market 
was  only  the  Monte  Carlo  of  the  Tape  and  leaders 
to  whom  it  was  a  means  to  an  end ;  cool,  calculat 
ing,  steel-nerved  leaders  and  fidgety,  impulsive, 
excitable  leaders  ;  leaders  who  were  church  pillars 
and  total  abstainers  and  leaders  whose  only  God 
was  the  ticker  and  whose  most  brilliant  operations 
were  carried  on  during  the  course  of  a  drunken 
debauch.  But  never  before,  in  the  breathless  his 
tory  of  Wall  Street,  had  there  been  a  leader  whose 
following  was  numbered  by  the  thousands  and 
included  not  only  the  "  shoe-string "  speculators 
but  the  very  richest  of  the  rich  !  Never  before  a 
leader  whose  word  took  the  place  of  statistical 
information,  whose  mere  "  I  am  buying  it "  created 
more  purchasers  for  a  stock  than  all  the  glowing 
prospectuses  and  all  the  accountants'  affidavits  and 
all  the  bankers'  estimates. 

At  first  Wall  Street  said  the  public  was  suffer- 
115 


116  WALL  STREET  STORIES 

ing  from  an  epidemic  of  speculative  insanity; 
that  Colonel  Treadwell  was  merely  a  bold  opera 
tor  "  backed  "  by  a  clique  of  the  greatest  fortunes 
in  America ;  that  he  was  not  a  skilful  "  manipu 
lator"  of  values,  but  by  sheer  brute  force  of  tre 
mendous  buying  he  made  those  stocks  advance 
with  which  he  was  identified  and  that,  of  course, 
the  public  always  follows  the  stocks  that  are  made 
active ;  and  many  other  explanations.  But  in 
the  end  Wall  Street  came  to  realize  exactly  to 
what  it  was  that  the  blind  devotion  of  the  specu 
lative  public  for  the  colonel  was  due.  Defying 
all  traditions,  upsetting  all  precedents,  violating 
all  rules,  driving  all  the  "  veterans  "  to  the  verge 
of  hysterics  and  bankruptcy  by  his  daily  defiance 
of  accepted  views  as  to  the  art  of  operating  in 
stocks,  Colonel  Josiah  T.  Treadwell  founded  a 
new  school :  He  told  the  truth. 

The  colonel  sat  in  his  office  alone  with  his 
thoughts.  The  door  was  open  —  it  was  always 
open  —  and  the  clerks  and  customers  of  Tread- 
well  &  Co.  as  they  passed  to  and  fro  caught 
glimpses  of  the  great  leader's  broad,  kindly  face 
and  shrewd,  little,  twinkling  eyes  that  seemed  to 
smile  at  them.  They  wondered  what  new  "  deal " 
the  colonel  was  planning.  And  then  they  wished 
with  all  their  souls  and  purses  they  knew  the  name 


A   PHILANTHROPIC   WHISPER       117 

of  the  stock  —  merely  the  name  of  it  —  so  that 
they  might  "  get  in  on  the  ground  floor." 

The  famous  operator  sat  on  a  revolving  chair 
by  his  desk.  He  had  turned  his  back  on  an  ac 
cumulation  of  correspondence  and  he  now  rotated 
from  right  to  left  and  from  left  to  right.  The 
tips  of  his  shoes  —  he  was  a  short  man  —  missed 
the  floor  by  an  inch  or  two  and  he  swung  his  feet 
contentedly.  A  ticker  whirred  away  blithely  and 
from  time  to  time  Treadwell  ceased  his  rocking 
and  his  foot-swinging,  and  glanced  jovially  at  the 
ticker  "  tape."  From  his  window  he  could  see  a 
Mississippi  of  people  or  a  bit  of  New  York  sum 
mer  sky,  but  his  restless  eyes  were  roaming  and 
skipping  from  place  to  place.  And  the  clerks 
and  the  customers  wondered  whether  the  market 
was  going  the  way  the  colonel  had  planned.  The 
ticker  was  whirring  and  clicking,  impassively,  and 
the  colonel  wore  a  meditative  look.  What  was  the 
"  old  man  "  scheming  ?  The  bears  had  better  be 
on  their  guard  !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Josiah  T. 
Treadwell  was  thinking  that  his  brother  Wilson, 
who  had  left  him  a  few  minutes  before,  was  cer 
tainly  growing  bald.  He  also  wondered  whether 
people  who  advertised  "  restorers  "  and  "  invigo- 
ratprs  "  were  veracious  or  merely  "  Wall  Streety  " 
as  he  put  it  to  himself. 


118  WALL  STREET   STORIES 

A  young  man,  an  utter  stranger  to  Colonel 
Treadwell,  halted  at  the  door,  and  looked  at  the 
leader  of  the  stock  market,  hesitatingly. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,"  called  out  the  colonel, 
cheerily.  "  Won't  you  walk  into  my  parlor  ?  " 

"  Good-morning,  Colonel  Treadwell,"  said  the 
lad,  diffidently. 

"  Who  are  you,  and  what  are  you,  and  what  can 
I  do  for  you  ? "  said  the  colonel,  extending  his 
hand. 

The  youth  did  not  heed  the  chubby,  out 
stretched  hand.  "  My  name,"  he  said,  very  for 
mally  and  introductory,  "  is  Carey.  My  father 
used  to  know  you  when  he  was  editor  of  the 
Blankburg  Herald" 

"  Well,"  said  the  colonel,  encouragingly,  "  shake 
hands  anyhow." 

Carey  shook  hands ;  his  diffidence  vanished. 
He  was  a  pleasant- faced,  pleasant- voiced  young 
fellow,  Treadwell  thought.  He  was  a  good- 
hearted,  jocular  old  fellow,  unlike  what  he  had 
imagined  the  leader  of  the  stock  market  would  be, 
Carey  thought. 

"  Yes,"  went  on  the  colonel,  "  I  remember 
your  father  very  well.  I  never  forget  my  up-the- 
State  friends,  and  I  am  always  glad  to  see  their 
sons.  When  I  ran  for  Congress,  Bill  Carey  wrote 


A   PHILANTHROPIC   WHISPER       119 

red-hot  editorials  in  my  favor,  and  I  was  beaten 
by  a  large  and  enthusiastic  majority.  I  haven't 
seen  your  father  in  twenty -odd  years  —  not  since 
he  went  wrong  and  took  to  politics." 

"  Well,  Colonel  Treadwell,"  laughed  Carey,  "  I 
guess  Dad  did  his  best  for  you.  And  if  you  didn't 
go  to  Congress  you're  better  off,  from  all  I  have 
read  in  the  papers  about  you." 

You  would  have  thought  they  had  known  each 
other  for  years. 

"  That's  what  I  say  ;  I  have  to,"  chuckling. 

"  Colonel,"  said  the  young  man,  boldly,  "  I've 
come  to  ask  your  advice." 

"  Most  people  don't  ask  it  twice.  Be  careful 
now." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  they  get  so  rich  following 
it  that  they  don't  have  to  come  again?" 

"You  are  a  politician,  young  man.  You'll 
wake  up  and  find  yourself  in  Congress,  some  fine 
day,  unless  your  father  goes  back  to  newspaper 
work  and  writes  some  editorials  in  your  favor." 

The  boy  had  a  pleasant  smile,  the  colonel 
thought. 

"  I  have  saved  up  some  money,  Colonel." 

"  Keep  it.  That's  the  best  advice  I  can  give 
you.  Go  away  instantly.  Great  Scott,  young 
ster,  you  are  in  Wall  Street  now." 


120  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

"  Oh,  I  —  I'm  safe  enough  in  this  office,  I 
guess,"  retorted  Carey. 

The  famous  leader  of  the  stock  market  looked 
at  him  solemnly.  The  boy  returned  the  look, 
imperturbably.  Then  Colonel  Treadwell  laughed, 
and  Carey  laughed  back  at  him. 

"  What  are  you  doing  to  keep  out  of  State's 
prison  ?  "  asked  Treadwell. 

"  Fm  a  clerk  in  the  office  of  the  Federal  Pump 
Company,  third  floor,  upstairs.  I  have  saved 
some  money  and  I  want  to  know  what  to  do  with 
it.  I  read  an  article  in  the  Sun  the  other  day. 
It  said  you  had  advised  people  to  put  their  sav 
ings  into  Suburban  Trolley  and  how  well  they 
had  fared." 

"  That  was  a  year  ago.  Trolley  has  gone  up 
50  points  since  then." 

"  That  shows  how  good  the  advice  was.  And 
you  also  said  a  young  man  should  do  something 
with  his  savings  and  not  let  them  lie  idle.  "  The 
young  man  looked  straight  into  the  little,  twink 
ling,  kindly  eyes  of  the  leader  of  the  stock 
market. 

"  How  much  money  have  you  ?" 

"  I  have  two  hundred  and  ten  dollars,"  replied 
the  lad  with  an  uncertain  smile.  He  had  felt 
proud  of  the  magnitude  of  his  savings  in  his  own 


A   PHILANTHROPIC   WHISPER        121 

room  ;  in  this  office  he  felt  a  bit  ashamed  of  their 
insignificance. 

"Dear  me,""  said  the  millionaire  speculator, 
very  seriously,  "that  is  a  good  deal  of  money. 
It's  a  blame  sight  moreen  I  had,  when  I  started  in 
business.  Got  it  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  I'll  introduce  you  to  my  brother  Wilson, 
who  has  charge  of  our  customers.  Come  in,  John." 

"  John  "  came  in.  His  other  name  was  Mellen. 
He  was  a  slim,  quiet-looking  man  of  about  five- 
and-fifty.  His  enemies  said  that  he  had  made 
$1,000,000  for  every  year  he  had  lived  and  had 
kept  it. 

"  Sit  down,  John,"  said  Colonel  Treadwell, 
shaking  hands  with  Mr.  Mellen,  "  I'll  be  back  in  a 
minute." 

At  the  door  he  shook  hands  with  two  more 
visitors  —  a  tall,  ruddy-faced,  white-haired,  and 
white-whiskered  man,  Mr.  Milton  Steers,  after- 
dinner  speaker  and  self-confessed  wit ;  and,  inci 
dentally,  president  of  a  railroad  system  ;  also  Mr. 
D.  M.  Ogden,  who  looked  like  an  English  clergy 
man  and  was  the  owner  of  the  huge  Ogden  Build 
ings  in  Wall  Street.  They  had  come  to  discuss 
the  advisability  of  a  new  deal  in  "  Trolley."" 
They  represented,  they  and  their  associates,  more 


122  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

than  $500,000,000.  But  Colonel  Treadwell  made 
them  wait  while  he  escorted  his  new  acquaintance 
to  his  brother's  room. 

"  Wilse,"  he  said,  "  I've  brought  you  a  new 
customer,  Mr.  Carey." 

Wilson  P.  Treadwell  smiled  pleasantly.  He  was 
a  tall,  slender  man  with  a  serious  look.  The  firm 
did  not  desire  new  accounts,  for  there  was  already 
more  business  than  could  be  handled.  They  were 
the  busiest  and  the  best-known  stock  brokers  in 
the  United  States.  But  the  colonel's  friends 
were  welcome,  always. 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  meet  Mr.  Carey,"  said  Wil 
son  Treadwell.  The  firm  had  some  very  youth 
ful  customers ;  but  their  means  were  in  inverse 
ratio  to  their  years. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  colonel,  "  that  we  had  bet 
ter  buy  some  Easton  &  Allentown  for  him."  He 
was  smiling;  he  generally  did.  Moreover,  he 
was  thinking  of  his  brother's  mistaken  impression 
of  the  new  customer. 

"  That  is  a  good  idea,"  assented  Wilson.  "You 
ought  to  put  in  your  order  at  once.  The  stock 
is  going  up  very  fast,  Mr.  Carey." 

"  Well,  young  man,  give  him  your  margin  and 
let  him  buy  you  as  much  as  he  thinks  best,"  said 
the  colonel. 


A    PHILANTHROPIC   WHISPER        123 

"Five  thousand  shares?"  suggested  Wilson 
Treadwell. 

Colonel  Treadwell  chuckled.  "  Five  thousand  ? 
A  paltry  five  ?  " 

"  Well,  fifty  thousand  if  he  wants  them,  and 
you  guarantee  his  account,"  said  his  brother  with 
a  smile. 

V I  guess,"  said  the  leader  of  the  stock  market, 
slowly,  "  that  you  had  better  begin  with  one  hun 
dred  shares." 

Then  Wilson,  who  knew  his  brother  thorough 
ly,  said  "  Oh ! "  and  smiled  and  gave  an  order  to 
a  clerk  to  buy  one  hundred  shares  of  Easton  & 
Allen  town  Railroad  stock  at  the  "market"  or 
prevailing  price,  for  Mr.  Carey,  and  took  the 
boy's  two  hundred  and  ten  dollars  with  the 
utmost  gravity.  The  smallest  Stock  Exchange 
house  would  not  accept  such  a  pitiful  account. 
Treadwell  &  Co.  being  the  largest,  would  and 
did. 

The  colonel  shook  hands  with  young  Carey, 
whose  father  had  once  edited  a  country  newspa 
per,  but  who  had  never  been  an  intimate  friend, 
told  him  to  "  Come  again,  any  time,"  and  went 
back  to  his  accomplices. 

Easton  &  Allen  town  stock  was  the  "feature" 
of  the  market  that  week  and  the  next.  Ten  days 


124  WALL   STREET    STORIES 

after  Carey  had  bought  his  hundred  shares  at  94 
the  stock  sold  at  106. 

The  young  man  went  into  the  office  of  Tread- 
well  &  Co.,  on  the  eleventh  day.  He  knew  he 
had  made  a  great  deal  of  money  —  more  than  he 
had  ever  thought  of  having  at  his  age  —  but  he 
did  not  know  what  to  do  now.  He  heard  one 
man  say  to  another:  "Take  profits?  Not  at 
this  price.  E.  &  A.  is  sure  to  go  to  115." 

Carey  figured  that  if  he  waited  for  the  stock  to 
sell  at  115,  he  would  make  nearly  a  thousand  dol 
lars  more. 

"  There  is  no  use  of  being  a  blamed  hog,"  the 
man  continued,  with  picturesque  emphasis,  "  but 
where  in  blazes  is  the  sense  of  throwing  away  that 
much  money  by  selling  out  too  soon  ?  Limit 
your  losses  and  let  your  profits  run." 

They  stood  in  the  corridor  of  the  partitioned 
office,  the  crowd  of  men,  all  of  them  customers  of 
Tread  well  &  Co.,  excepting  the  newspaper  report 
ers  who  had  called  for  their  usual  daily  interview 
with  the  famous  leader  of  the  stock  market. 
There  were  two  United  States  Senators ;  an  ex- 
Congressman  ;  a  score  of  men  who  had  inherited 
fortunes  and  were  doubling  them  in  the  stock 
market ;  three  or  four  gray-haired  shrewd-faced 
capitalists  whose  names  appeared  many  times  in 


A   PHILANTHROPIC   WHISPER        125 

the  financial  pages  of  newspapers ;  a  baker's  dozen 
of  prominent  municipal  politicians,  a  well-known 
Western  railroad  president  with  a  ruddy  face  and 
a  snow-white  beard ;  two  famous  physicians ;  the 
vice-president  of  a  life  insurance  company;  a  half 
score  of  wholesale  merchants  and  a  low-voiced, 
insignificant  little  man,  with  a  quiet,  almost 
apologetic  look,  who  seldom  spoke  and  never 
smiled,  but  who,  next  to  the  colonel  himself,  was 
beyond  question  the  heaviest  "  plunger "  in  the 
office. 

The  colonel  came  out  of  his  office  to  go  to  his 
brother's  room,  where,  seated  about  a  long  pol 
ished  table  were  several  directors  of  the  Suburban 
Trolley  Company — men  to  whom  the  newspapers 
always  referred  not  by  name  but  as  "  prominent 
insiders."  It  was  a  very  important  gathering. 
It  involved  no  less  than  a  final  understanding  in 
regards  to  the  great  "  Trolley  pool "  whose  opera 
tions,  later  on,  were  to  become  historical  in  Wall 
Street.  It  was,  as  one  of  the  speculators  outside 
put  it,  "  a  case  of  show  down "  —  the  cash  re 
sources  available  for  pool  purposes  were  to  be 
ascertained,  each  man  announcing  the  proportion 
of  the  100,000  shares  for  which  he  was  willing  to 
"  put  up." 

Carey  was    standing   by  the   door   of  Wilson 


126  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

Treadwell's  office.  He  did  not  feel  altogether 
comfortable,  among  so  many  elderly  and  obviously 
very  rich  men.  His  diffidence  was  the  saving  of 
him  for  as  the  colonel  passed  he  paused  and  said, 
in  a  low  voice  :  "  Got  your  stock  yet  ?  " 

The  customers  in  the  corridor,  men  who,  by  the 
colonel's  advice,  were  "carrying"  from  500  to 
10,000  shares  each  of  Easton  &  Allentown,  leaned 
forward  eagerly.  All  were  men  who  north  of 
Wall  Street  would  not  have  stooped  to  listen  to 
others'  conversations  if  their  lives  depended  on  it. 
In  a  broker's  office,  when  the  leader  of  the  stock 
market  was  speaking,  such  notions  were  absurd, 
almost  wicked.  Certainly,  at  that  moment, 
twenty  pairs  of  eyes  were  looking  fixedly  at  the 
great  leader  of  the  stock  market  and  the  young 
clerk. 

The  colonel  felt  this  intuitively.  He  confirmed 
it  with  a  quick  glance  of  his  sharp  little  eyes. 
He  had  not  sold  all  his  Easton  &  Allentown,  but 
was  disposing  of  it  just  as  fast  as  the  market 
would  take  it.  It  was  not  likely  that  the  stock 
would  go  much  higher.  Wall  Street,  ever  loath 
to  believe  well  of  any  stock  operator,  used  to 
comment  sneeringly  on  the  fact  that  the  world 
heard  much  about  the  "  Treadwell  buying "  but 
never  a  word  about  the  Treadwell  selling. 


A   PHILANTHROPIC   WHISPER        127 

If  the  colonel  gave  a  hint  to  the  customers 
there  would  be  an  avalanche  of  selling  orders  that 
would  make  the  price  of  the  stock  break  sharply, 
and  this  would  not  benefit  anyone.  He  had  ad 
vised  them  to  buy  the  stock  at  90  and  at  95  —  it 
was  105  now.  He  had  more  than  done  his  duty. 
If  they  did  not  sell  out,  in  the  hope  of  making 
more,  it  was  their  own  lookout. 

But  there  was  the  boy  with  the  one  hundred 
shares,  the  pleasant  little  clerk  from  up-the-State, 
who  had  brought  in  his  entire  fortune,  his  accu 
mulated  savings  of  two  hundred  and  ten  dollars. 
He  was  a  stranger  to  Wall  Street.  But  suppos 
ing  he  should  tell  that  he  had  been  advised  to 
sell  ?  There  would  be  the  deuce  to  pay  ! 

The  colonel  took  chances.  Out  of  one  corner 
of  his  mouth,  so  that  he  did  not  even  turn  his 
head  toward  the  boy  and  so  that  the  watching  cus 
tomers  could  not  suspect  what  he  was  doing,  he 
shot  a  quick  whisper  —  a  lob-sided  but  philan 
thropic  affair  —  at  him  :  "  Look  at  the  color  of 
your  money,  boy !  Take  your  profits  and  say 
nothing  !  "  And  he  walked  into  the  room  where 
the  Suburban  Trolley  magnates  awaited  him 
impatiently. 

Carey,  thrilled  but  taciturn,  gave  his  order  to 
sell  his  Easton  &  Allentown,  unsuspected  by  the 


128  WALL  STREET   STORIES 

mob.  They  sold  it  for  him  at  105J.  Deduct 
ing  commissions  and  interest  charges  the  colonel's 
whisper  had  put  $1,050  in  the  young  clerk's 
pocket. 

And  the  stock  went  a  little  higher  and  then 
declined  slowly  to  about  99.  The  customers  all 
made  a  great  deal  of  money  as  it  was,  but  not  as 
much  as  they  would  have  "taken  out"  of  the 
Easton  &  Allentown  "  deal "  if  they  had  over 
heard  that  one  of  Colonel  Treadwell's  many  whis 
pers  —  lob -sided  but  philanthropic  affairs  ! 


THE  MAN   WHO   WON 


THE  MAN  WHO  WON 

«<  BROWN,"  said  Mr.  John  P.  Greener,  as  he  turned 
away  from  the  ticker  in  the  corner,  "  I  wish  you 
would  go  over  to  the  Board  and  see  how  the  mar 
ket  is  for  Iowa  Midland.  Find  out  how  much 
stock  there  is  for  sale  and  who  has  it.  It  ought 
to  be  pretty  well  distributed  about  the  Street." 

"What's  up  in  it?"  asked  his  partner,  curi 
ously. 

"  Nothing  —  yet,"  answered  Greener,  quietly. 

He  sat  down  at  his  desk  and  took  up  a  letter, 
headed  "President's  Office,  Keokuk  &  Northern 
Railway  Company,  Keokuk,  Iowa."  When  he 
had  finished  the  entire  sixteen  closely  written 
pages,  he  arose  and  paced  slowly  up  and  down  his 
office. 

He  was  a  sallow-faced,  black-bearded  little 
man,  slender  —  almost  frail  looking  —  with  a  high 
but  rather  narrow  forehead.  His  eyes  were  fur 
tive,  shifty  bits  of  brown  light.  He  was  think 
ing,  and  thinking  to  some  purpose.  Any  one, 
even  a  stranger,  seeing  him,  would  have  known 
that  he  was  thinking  of  something  big  —  the  fore 
head  was  responsible  for  the  impression ;  and 
131 


132  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

also  of  something  tricky,  unscrupulous,  cold-blood 
ed  —  his  eyes  were  to  blame  there.  At  length  his 
brow  cleared.  He  muttered:  "I  must  have 
that  road.  Then,  a  consolidation  with  my  Keokuk 
&  Northern ;  and  a  new  system  that  will  endure 
as  long  as  the  country ! " 

Brown  returned  in  a  half  hour  and  reported. 
There  was  very  little  stock  for  sale  below  $4£  a 
share  —  a  few  small  lots  held  by  unimportant  com 
mission  houses.  The  vendible  supply  increased  at 
44,  and  at  46  "inside  stock  would  come  out," 
which,  translated  into  plain  English,  meant  that 
whenever  the  price  of  Iowa  Midland  Railway 
Company  stock  rose  to  $46  per  share,  directors  of 
the  company  or  close  friends  of  theirs  would  be 
found  willing  to  part  with  their  holdings.  It  was 
thus  evident  that  the  greater  part  of  such  stock 
of  the  Iowa  Midland  as  the  Street  was  "  carrying  " 
speculatively  was  not  for  sale  at  such  a  price  as 
would  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  a  great  bargain 
by  Mr.  John  F.  Greener,  president  de  facto  of  the 
rival  Keokuk  &  Northern  Railway,  but  better 
known  to  countless  "  lambs  "  and  widows  and  or 
phans  and  brother  financiers  as  the  Napoleon  of 
the  Street. 

"Any  supporting  orders ?"'  piped  Greener. 
Stocks  are  "  supported,"  or  bought  on  declines, 


THE   MAN   WHO   WON  133 

so  that  the  price  shall  not  go  down  too  much,  and 
above  all  not  too  quickly. 

"  Bagley  has  orders  to  buy  300  shares  every 
quarter  of  a  point  down  until  37  is  reached,  and 
then  to  take  5,000  shares  at  that  figure.  He  got 
them  direct  from  Willetts  himself."  Bagley  was 
a  broker  who  made  a  specialty  of  dealing  in  Iowa 
Midland.  Willetts  was  the  president  of  the  com 
pany. 

"  Willetts,"  squeaked  Greener,  "  was  in  Council 
Bluffs  this  morning.  He  is  to  take  part  in  the 
ceremonies  of  unveiling  the  Soldiers1  Monument, 
which  begin  at  one  o'clock  —  that  is,  within  twenty 
minutes,  allowing  for  difference  in  time.  He  will 
be  out  of  the  reach  of  the  telegraph  for  the  after 
noon." 

Brown  laughed.  "  No  wonder  they  are  afraid 
of  you." 

"  Brown,"  said  Greener,  "  start  the  movement 
by  selling  10,000  shares  of  Iowa  Midland.  Divide 
it  up  among  the  boys  on  the  floor.  It  would  be 
well  if  the  room  were  frightened  by  the  selling. 
It  is  more  important  for  us  to  get  the  price  down 
than  to  put  out  shorts  at  high  figures.  I  want 
that  stock  down."  If  he  had  merely  desired  to  sell 
the  stock  "  short "  he  would  have  gone  about  it 
carefully,  to  disturb  the  price  as  little  as  possible. 


154  WALL  STREET  STORIES 

"  If  you  want  that  I  think  you'll  get  it,"  said 
Brown.  As  he  was  going  out  Mr.  Greener 
squeaked  after  him :  "  Keep  them  guessing, 
Brown  ;  keep  them  guessing."" 

"  That,"  mused  Mr.  John  R  Greener,  "  ought 
to  mean  a  three-  or  four-point  break  in  Iowa  Mid 
land  at  the  very  least,  and  perhaps  we  can  work 
through  the  peg  at  37.  Well  see."  By  the 
"  Peg  "  ne  meant  the  figure  at  which  the  support 
ing  orders  to  buy  were  heaviest. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  Iowa  Midland  "  post " 
on  the  floor  of  the  Stock  Exchange  was  surround 
ed  by  a  dozen  puzzled  and  apprehensive  but  gen 
tlemanly  brokers.  And  still  a  few  minutes  later 
the  same  spot  was  a  seething  whirlpool  of  mani 
acal  humanity.  It  was  appalling,  the  sight  of 
these  gesticulating,  yelling,  fighting,  coat-tearing, 
fisticuffing  brokers  —  appalling  and  vulgar,  self 
ish,  unpleasant,  ungentlemanly  but  eminently 
typical.  And  all  that  caused  the  transformation 
was  the  fact  that  Mr.  Brown  had  been  seen  whis 
pering  to  Harry  Wilson,  and  Harry  Wilson  had 
left  him,  gone  to  the  Iowa  Midland  crowd,  and 
sold  1,000  shares  at  42 J-  and  42.  Then  Mr. 
Brown  had  been  seen  speaking  with  W.  G.  Carle- 
ton  in  what  struck  witnesses  as  being  a  more  or 
less  agitated  manner,  and  later  Carleton  had  saun- 


THE   MAN   WHO   WON  135 

tered  carelessly  over  to  the  Iowa  Midland  pre 
cinct,  and,  after  displaying  very  great  indifference 
about  the  world  in  general,  but  most  particularly 
about  the  market  for  Iowa  Midland,  had  sold 
1,500  shares  to  Bagley,  the  specialist,  at  41f ,  41f , 
and  41 J.  Mr.  Brown  was  now  watched  by  two  or 
three  scores  of  sharp  eyes,  all  having  the  same  ex 
pression.  And  he  was  observed  to  look  about 
him  apprehensively  and  then  begin  to  converse 
with  Frank  J.  Pratt ;  whereupon  Pratt,  as  fast  as 
his  fat  legs  would  carry  him,  hastened  to  "  Iowa 
Midland  "  and  sold  2,000  shares  at  an  average 
price  of  41.  The  observant  eyes  had  by  this 
taken  on  a  new  expression  —  of  indecision ;  but 
when  they  beheld  Mr.  Brown  anxiously  beckon  to 
his  "  particular "  friend,  Dan  Simpson,  and  saw 
shrill- voiced  Dan  rush  like  mad  into  the  increas 
ing  crowd  and  sell  5,000  shares  of  Iowa  Midland, 
apparently  regardless  of  price,  the  observant  eyes 
ceased  to  observe  Brown.  Activity  was  transferred 
to  their  owners'  throats  as  they  thought  to  em 
ulate  Simpson  and  the  rest  of  the  Brown  "  whis- 
perees."  Everybody  scented  danger,  especially 
as  the  same  "  whisperees  "  had  not  "  given  up  " 
the  name  of  Brown  &  Greener  as  the  real  sellers, 
but  had  sold  as  though  each  Brown-talked  man 
was  acting  for  himself —  which  every  other  man  in 


136  WALL  STREET   STORIES 

the  room  knew  was  out  of  the  question,  and  which, 
in  turn,  increased  the  general  uneasiness.  It  was 
a  confident  and  yet  a  mystifying  movement.  It 
became  more  maddeningly  perplexing  when  cer 
tain  brokers,  believed  to  be  "  close  to  the  inside," 
also  began  to  sell  the  stock.  Everybody  started 
to  do  likewise.  And  everybody  asked  the  same 
question  —  "  What's  the  matter?  "  —  and  received 
an  avalanche  of  answers,  all  different  but  all  un 
favorable.  One  man  said  it  was  crop  failures, 
another  mentioned  divers  kinds  of  bugs,  a  third 
asserted  it  was  extensive  wash-outs  and  ruinous 
landslides,  and  bankrupting  attacks  by  a  socialistic 
legislature,  and  receivership  probabilities. 

Each  of  these  was  a  good  and  sufficient  reason 
why  Iowa  Midland  stock  should  be  sold.  The 
comparison  is  odiously  trite,  but  the  growth  of  an 
adverse  rumor  in  Wall  Street  really  resembles  noth 
ing  so  much  as  the  traditional  snowball  rolling 
down  a  hillside  and  becoming  larger  and  larger  as 
it  rolls,  until  it  is  huge,  terrific,  with  appalling 
possibilities  for  evil. 

The  Board  Room  became  lowa-Midland-mad. 
Speculators  often  stampede — just  like  other  an 
imals.  No  stock  can  withstand  their  rush  to  sell, 
even  though  it  be  "  protected  "  or  "  supported  " 
by  its  manipulators,  much  less  a  stock  like  Iowa 


THE   MAN   WHO   WON  13? 

Midland,  whose  market  sponsor  was  out  of  town, 
and  out  of  reach  of  the  telegraph. 

From  all  over  the  room  men  rushed  to  Brown, 
who  was  sitting  calmly  at  the  Erie  "  post,""  chat 
ting  pleasantly  with  a  friend. 

"  Brown,  what^s  up  in  Iowa  Midland  ?  "  one  of 
them  asked,  feverishly.  The  others  listened  eag 
erly. 

Brown  might  have  said,  "  I  don't  know,"  rudely, 
and  turned  his  back  on  them.  But  he  did  not. 
He  responded  jocularly  :  "  It  seems  to  me  that 
something  is  down  in  Iowa  Midland,  that  some 
thing  being  about  three  points,  I  should  say. 
Ha  !  ha  !  " 

By  this  time  nearly  all  the  listeners  had  con 
cluded  that,  since  Brown  refused  to  tell,  there 
must  be  something  serious  —  something  very  seri 
ous.  Brown  obviously  was  still  selling  the  stock 
through  other  brokers,  and  would  keep  the  bad 
news  to  himself  until  he  had  marketed  his  "  line." 
After  that,  probably  he  would  become  interest 
ingly  garrulous.  They  therefore  advised  their  re 
spective  offices  to  get  rid  of  their  Iowa  Midland 
stock.  It  might  be  all  right ;  but  it  might  be  all 
wrong.  And  it  was  going  down  fast. 

Mr.  Greener  in  his  office  was  looking  at  the 
66  tape  "  as  it  came  out  of  the  little  electrical  print- 


138         WALL  STREET  STORIES 

ing  machine  that  records  the  transactions  and 
prices. 

The  sallow-faced  little  man  permitted  himself  a 
slight  —  a  very  slight  —  smile.  The  tape  showed : 
"IA.  MID.,  1000.  39;  300.  38f ;  500.  |  ;  300. 
}  ;  200.  f  ;  i ;  300.  38." 

He  turned  away  to  summon  a  clerk,  to  whom 
he  said  :  "  Mr.  Rock,  please  send  for  Mr.  Coolidge. 
Make  haste." 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

A  portly,  white- waistcoated,  white-haired  man, 
with  snow-white,  short-cropped  side  whiskers, 
burst  unceremoniously  into  the  room. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Ormiston  ?  "  squeaked 
Greener,  cordially. 

"  Greener,"  panted  the  portly  man,  "  whafs  the 
matter  with  Iowa  Midland  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  in  a  half-complaining, 
half-petulant  squeak. 

"  Brown  started  the  selling.  I  saw  it  myself. 
Greener,  I  did  you  a  good  turn  once  in  Central 
District  Telegraph.  I'm  long  6,000  shares  of 
this  Iowa  Midland.  For  God's  sake,  man,  if  you 
know  anything " 

"  Mr.  Ormiston,  all  I  know  is  what  I  learn  from 
my  confidential  reports  of  the  Iowa  crop.  Along 
the  line  of  the  Keokuk  &  Northern  the  crop  is 


THE   MAN    WHO   WON  139 

not  what  I  hoped  for.11  And  he  shook  his  head 
dolefully. 

"  Ticky  -  ticky  -  ticky  tick !  "  said  the  ticker, 
calmly. 

The  portly  man  approached  the  little  machine. 
"  Thirty-seven-and-an-eighth.  Thirty-seven  !  " 
he  shouted.  "  Great  Scott !  she's  going  down  like 

a "  He  did  not  finish  the  comparison,  but 

rushed  out  of  the  office  without  pausing  to  say 
good-by.  At  one  o'clock  his  6,000  shares  at  $42  J 
represented  $255,000.  Now,  at  two  o'clock,  at 
$37,  the  same  stock  would  fetch  about  $222,000. 
A  depreciation  of  $33,000  in  an  hour  is  apt  to 
make  one  neglectful  of  the  little  niceties.  An 
additional  un-nicety  was  the  obvious  fact  that  an 
attempt  to  sell  6,000  shares  on  a  declining  market 
would  inevitably  cause  a  still  further  drop.  Mr. 
Ormiston  was  excusable. 

Again  Mr.  Greener  summoned  a  confidential 
clerk. 

"  Mr.  Rock,"  he  squeaked,  placidly,  "  telephone 
Mr.  Brown  that  Ormiston,  Monkhouse  &  Co.  are 
about  to  sell  6,000  shares  of  Iowa  Midland,  and 
that  Mr.  Coolidge  must  not  pay  more  than  35 
for  it. 

"Mr.  Coolidge  is  in  your  private  room,  sir," 
announced  an  office-boy. 


140  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

The  little  financier,  with  an  expressionless,  salv 
low  face,  confronted  his  chief  confidential  broker. 
Their  relations  were  unsuspected  by  the  Street. 
Everybody  thought  Coolidge  was  a  pleasant  and 
honorable  man. 

"  Coolidge,  go  to  the  Board  at  once.  Ormiston 
is  going  to  sell  6,000  shares  of  Iowa  Midland. 
Get  it  as  cheap  as  you  can.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry, 
though." 

"  How  much  shall  I  buy  ?  "  asked  the  broker, 
jotting  down  a  few  figures  in  his  order  book. 

"  As  much  as  you  can  ;  all  that  is  offered  be 
low  37,"  squeaked  the  Napoleon  of  the  Street.  It 
was  a  Napoleonic  order.  "  And,  Coolidge,  I  don't 
want  this  known  by  any  one.  Clear  the  stock 
yourself."  It  meant  that  Mr.  Coolidge  was  to  put 
the  stock  through  the  Clearing  House  in  his  own 
name.  As  there  is  a  charge  for  this  service,  in 
addition  to  the  usual  buying  or  selling  commis 
sion,  such  steps  are  not  resorted  to  unless  it  is  de 
sired  to  conceal  the  identity  of  the  broker's  prin 
cipal,  should  the  latter  be  a  fellow-member  of  the 
Exchange. 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Greener.  Good-morning." 
And  the  broker  went  out  on  a  run.  "  Whew  !  " 
he  whistled  when  he  was  in  the  Street  on  his  way 
to  the  Stock  Exchange,  a  few  doors  below,  "Brown 


THE   MAN   WHO   WON  141 

&  Greener  must  be  short  at  least  50,000  or  60,- 
000  shares."  This  was  five  times  too  much.  But 
it  showed  that  Mr.  Greener  was  impartial  in  his 
distribution  of  erroneous  impressions.  He  wanted 
to  accumulate  the  stock  rather  than  "  cover  "  a 
short  line ;  but  there  was  no  reason  why  even  his 
most  trusted  broker  should  know  it. 

Ormiston's  6,000  shares  found  their  way  to  Mr. 
Coolidge's  office  at  from  34f  to  35  f.  Mr.  Brown 
in  the  meantime  had  succeeded  in  forcing  down 
the  prices  by  the  usual  tricks.  The  man  who 
once  had  done  Greener  a  good  turn  now  did  him 
another  —  the  gift  of  $40,000  ! 

In  addition,  Coolidge,  employing  several  brokers, 
purchased  23,000  shares  in  all,  which  meant  that 
Mr.  Greener,  after  "  covering "  Brown's  early 
"  short  sales,""  was  in  possession  of  fully  14,000 
shares  of  the  common  stock  of  the  Iowa  Midland 
Railway  Company,  at  a  price  averaging  nearly  6 
points  lower  than  they  could  have  been  bought 
on  the  preceding  day,  which  is  to  say  $75,000 
cheaper. 

But  Brown  &  Greener  had  made  as  much  on 
their  short  sales,  which  was  actually  equivalent  to 
having  the  lambs  pay  a  man  for  the  privilege  of 
being  shorn  by  him  ! 

Such  was  the  first  of  a  series  of  skirmishes  by 


142  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

means  of  which  the  diminutive  Napoleon  of  the 
Street  captured  the  floating  supply  of  Iowa  Mid 
land  stock,  until  he  had  no  less  than  65,000  shares 
safe  in  his  clutches. 

All  the  old  tricks  that  he  knew  and  new  de 
vices  he  invented  were  used  to  hide  from  the  Street 
the  fact  that  Mr.  Greener  was  buying  the  stock 
on  every  opportunity.  But  beyond  a  certain  limit 
extensive  purchases  of  a  particular  stock  cannot 
be  concealed  from  the  thousand  shrewd  men  who 
make  their  living  —  a  very  good  living,  indeed  — 
by  not  being  blind.  First  one  thing,  then  an 
other,  told  these  men  that  some  powerful  financier 
or  group  of  financiers  had  bought  enormously  of 
Iowa  Midland,  "  absorbing  "  unostentatiously  all 
the  stock  shaken  out  by  the  violent  fluctuations 
of  the  past  few  months.  This  fact  and  the  remark 
able  improvement  of  business  along  the  line  of  the 
road  caused  a  "  substantial  rise "  in  the  price  of 
the  company's  securities.  But  no  one  suspected 
the  little  Napoleon  with  the  shifty  eyes  and  the 
squeak  and  the  genius,  who  had  bought  in  the 
open  market,  through  unsuspected  brokers,  and  in 
Iowa  from  the  local  holders,  by  means  of  secret 
agents,  until  he  had  accumulated  78,600  shares. 

Brown  said  to  his  partner  one  day,  a  little  un 
easily  :  "  Supposing  we  can't  get  any  more  stock, 


THE   MAN   WHO   WON  143 

what  are  we  going  to  do  with  what  we  have  ? " 
To  try  to  sell  it,  however  carefully,  would  be  sure 
to  break  the  market. 

"  Brown,"  squeaked  the  little  man,  plaintively, 
"  I  have  concluded  that  in  case  I  can't  get  enough 
stock  to  bring  Willetts  and  his  crowd"  —  the 
president  of  the  Iowa  Midland  and  his  fellow- 
directors  —  "  to  my  way  of  thinking,  we  had  bet 
ter  sell  the  block  we  now  hold  to  the  Keokuk  & 
Northern  Railway  Company  at  the  market  price 
of  $68  a  share.  Perhaps  we  could  even  run  it  up 
a  little  higher.  Our  stock  cost  us  on  an  average 
$51  a  share.  We  could  take  our  payment  one 
half  in  cash  and  half  in  first  mortgage  bonds  at  a 
fair  discount.  The  deal  would  •  be  highly  bene 
ficial  to  the  Keokuk  &  Northern  Company,  since, 
having  such  a  large  block  of  her  rival's  stock, 
there  would  be  no  more  fighting  and  rate-cutting. 
Our  company  would  be  a  powerful  factor  in  the 
Iowa  Midland's  affairs,  for  we  ought  to  have  two 
or  possibly  three  directors  in  their  board." 

"  Greener,"  said  Brown,  "  shake  !  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  not  yet,"  squeaked  the  little  man, 
deprecatingly. 

Shortly  afterward  began  a  campaign  of  hostil 
ity  against  the  management  of  the  Iowa  Midland 
Railway  Company  and  President  Willetts  in  par- 


144  WALL  STREET  STORIES 

ticular.  It  was  a  bitter  campaign  of  defamation, 
of  ingenious  accusations,  and  of  alarming  prog 
nostications.  All  the  newspapers,  important  or 
obscure,  subsidized  or  honest,  began  to  print 
articles  of  the  kind  technically  known  as  "  roasts." 
The  road,  it  was  declared,  had  escaped  a  receiver 
ship  by  a  sheer  miracle.  President  Willetts's  in 
competence  was  stupendous  and  incurable.  There 
was,  in  sooth,  some  basis  for  the  complaints,  and 
many  stockholders  were  undoubtedly  dissatisfied 
with  the  Willetts  "  dynasty."  But  not  even  the 
newspapers  themselves  knew  that  they  were  merely 
moving  in  response  to  wires  artistically  pulled  by 
a  financial  genius  of  the  first  water.  The  stock 
once  more  declined.  Not  knowing  who  was  fight 
ing  him,  President  Willetts  was  unable  to  defend 
himself  effectively.  Many  timid  or  disgusted 
holders  sold  out.  Mr.  Greener  gave  no  sign  of 
life  ;  but  his  brokers  bought  the  stock  offered  for 
sale. 

At  length  a  well-known  and  talkative  broker 
confided  to  an  intimate  friend,  who  told  his  in 
timate  friend  in  confidence,  who  whispered  to  his 
chum,  who  told,  etc.,  etc.,  that  Mr.  John  F. 
Greener  had  been  responsible  for  the  fall  and 
rise  of  Iowa  Midland  stock  ;  that  for  months  he 
had  been  buying  it  on  the  Stock  Exchange ;  that 


THE   MAN    WHO   WON  145 

he  had  quietly  picked  up  some  large  blocks  in 
Iowa.  All  of  which  was  very  sad,  and,  worse  still, 
true.  Also,  that  Mr.  Greener  now  held  182,300 
shares  of  the  stock,  which  was  even  sadder,  but 
untrue. 

It  really  was  very  well  done.  The  annual  meet 
ing  of  the  company  was  only  six  weeks  away. 

The  reporters  rushed  to  Mr.  Greener's  office. 
The  little  financier  would  not  be  seen.  At  length 
he  reluctantly  consented  to  be  interviewed.  He 
admitted,  after  a  skilful  display  of  unwillingness, 
that  he  had  bought  Iowa  Midland  stock.  As  to 
the  amount,  he  said  that  was  not  of  interest  to 
the  general  public.  The  reporters  finally  cor 
nered  him  and  succeeded  in  making  the  little 
financier  say,  with  a  fleeting  and  very  peculiar 
smile  :  "  Yes  ;  it  is  over  100,000  shares."  And 
not  another  word  could  the  newspaper  men  get 
out  of  him. 

Being  an  intelligent  man,  he  never  lied  for 
publication.  Each  reporter  who  saw  that  smile 
and  the  furtive  look  that  accompanied  it  went 
away  convinced  to  the  life-wagering  point  that 
Mr.  John  F.  Greener  was  in  control  of  the  Iowa 
Midland.  And  they  wrote  accordingly. 

President  Willetts  all  but  had  an  apoplectic 
stroke.  The  Street  disgustedly  said  :  "  Another 


146  WALL  STREET  STORIES 

successful,  villainous  plot  of  Greener's ! "  And 
such  was  his  reputation  as  an  "  absorber  "  of  roads 
and  roads'  profits  that  the  stock  declined  ten 
points  in  two  days.  Investors  and  speculators 
alike  displayed  a  frantic  desire  not  to  be  identified 
in  any  way  or  manner  with  one  of  Mr.  Greener's 
properties. 

The  little  financier  had  not  been  mistaken.  His 
last  card  was  his  own  evil  reputation  !  He  had 
reserved  it  for  the  end.  On  the  wide-spread  fear 
that  followed  his  broker's  artistic  "  indiscretion  " 
he  was  able  to  "  scoop "  32,000  shares  more  at 
low  figures.  Such  is  the  value  of  fame  ! 

He  now  held  110,600  shares,  or  one  third  of 
the  Iowa  Midland  Railroad  Company's  entire 
capital  stock  —  enough  to  coerce  Willetts  into 
making  very  profitable  arrangements  with  Mr. 
Greener's  Keokuk  &  Northern  Railway  Company. 
Of  course  the  absolute  control  of  the  Iowa  Mid 
land  was  best  of  all,  if  it  only  could  be  secured. 
But  of  this  the  sallow-faced  little  man  with  the 
high  forehead  and  the  shifty  eyes  was  doubtful. 
He  confessed  as  much  to  Brown,  ending  with  : 
"  It's  a  shame,  too.  I  could  make  so  much  out 
of  that  property  ! " 

He  estimated  —  it  had  cost  him  $11,000  to  se 
cure  the  necessary  data  —  that  Willetts  and  his 


THE   MAN   WHO   WON  147 

clique  held  105,000  shares,  so  that  there  were 
still  122,000  shares  unaccounted  for  —  probably 
scattered  among  small  investors  throughout  the 
country,  who  did  not  care  who  managed  the  road 
so  long  as  they  received  pleasant  promises  of 
dividends,  and  also  among  banking  houses  and 
anti-Greener  men,  who,  though  they  did  not 
approve  of  Willetts,  disapproved  even  more 
emphatically  and  vehemently  of  Greener  and  his 
methods. 

If  he  could  not  buy  the  stock  itself  he  must 
try  to  secure  proxies. 

He  knew  that  some  of  the  trust  companies  held 
a  fair  amount  of  the  longed-for  stock.  He  laid 
siege  to  them.  He  bombarded  them  with  prom 
ises  and  poured  an  enfilading  fire  of  pledges  so 
honorable,  so  eminently  sound  and  business-like, 
as  to  pierce  the  armor  of  their  distrust.  In  the 
end  they  actually  grew  to  believe  that  they  were 
acting  wisely  when  they  pledged  their  support 
to  Mr,  Greener.  The  guarantee  he  gave  them 
seemed  ironclad,  and  they  agreed  to  give  him  their 
proxies  whenever  he  should  send  for  them. 

He  called  his  clerk  Rock  and  told  him :  "  Go 
to  the  Rural  Trust  Company  and  to  the  Com 
mercial  Loan  &  Trust  Company.  See  Mr.  Rob 
erts  and  Mr.  Morgan.  They  will  give  you  some 


148  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

Iowa  Midland  proxies  made  out  to  Frederick 
Rock  or  John  F.  Greener." 

Rock  was  a  good-looking,  quiet  chap,  with  a 
very  well-shaped  head  and  a  resolute  chin.  His 
manners  were  pleasing.  He  had  a  habit  of  look 
ing  one  straight  in  the  eyes,  but  did  not  always 
succeed  thereby  in  conveying  an  impression  of 
straightforwardness.  But  he  certainly  impressed 
one  as  being  bold  and  keen.  His  fellow-clerks 
used  to  say  that  Rock  spent  his  spare  time  in 
studying  the  financial  operations  of  the  Napoleon 
of  the  Street  with  the  same  care  and  minuteness 
that  military  students  go  over  the  campaigns  of 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  —  which  was  the  truth. 

"  Mr.  Greener,"  said  Rock,  "  you  are  carrying 
110,000  shares  of  stock,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?  "  squeaked  Greener,  innocently. 

"  I  figure  that,  unless  you  are  doing  something 
outside  this  office,  you  will  need  proxies  for  50,- 
000  shares  more  to  give  you  absolute  control  and 
elect  your  [own  board  of  directors  and  carry  out 
your  plans  in  connection  with  Keokuk  &  North 
ern." 

Not  by  so  much  as  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  did 
the  little  man  betray  that  he  was  interested  in 
Rock's  words,  or  that  the  clerk's  meddling  with 
the  firm's  affairs  was  at  all  out  of  the  ordinary. 


THE   MAN   WHO   WON  149 

"  Mr.  Greener,"  said  the  clerk,  very  earnestly, 
"  I  should  like  to  try  to  get  them  for  you." 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  squeaked,  absent-mindedly. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Rock. 

"  Go  ahead,  then,"  said  Mr.  Greener,  careless 
ly.  "  Let  me  know  next  week  how  you  are  get 
ting  on." 

An  expression  of  disappointment  came  into 
Rock's  face,  whereupon  Greener  added:  "Of 
course  if  you  succeed  I'll  do  well  by  you." 

"  What  will  you  do,  Mr.  Greener  ?  "  asked  the 
clerk,  looking  straight  at  him. 

"  Til  give  you,"  he  squeaked,  encouragingly, 
"  ten  thousand  dollars." 

"  Is  that  a  good  price  for  the  work,  Mr.  Green 
er  ?  I  may  have  to  pay  out  a  great  deal,"  added 
the  young  clerk  with  a  faint  touch  of  bitterness. 

"  It  is  all  that  it  is  worth  to  me,  Mr.  Rock,  and  I 
think  it  is  worth  more  to  me  than  to  anybody  else. 
I'll  raise  your  salary  from  sixteen  hundred  to  two 
thousand  a  year.  That's  a  great  deal  more  money 
than  I  had  at  your  age,  Mr.  Rock. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Rock,  quietly.  "  I'll  do  the 
best  I  can."  But  once  away  from  Greener,  his 
face  flushed  with  anger  and  indignation.  "  Ten 
thousand  for  what  might  be  worth  ten  millions  to 
the  financier  !  "  The  clerk  had  studied  Greener's 


150  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

Napoleonic  methods  for  two  years.  He  had 
learned  patience  for  one  thing,  and  he  had  waited 
for  his  chance.  It  had  come  at  last,  and  he  knew 
it. 

Events  make  the  man.  Rock  had  thought 
carefully,  intelligently,  and,  best  of  all,  coolly. 
He  had  planned  logically.  It  was  a  good  plan  ; 
it  was  the  only  feasible  plan,  and  it  could  not  be 
upset  by  meddlesome  courts.  How  Mr.  John  F. 
Greener  had  failed  to  think  of  the  same  plan  was 
a  bit  strange.  The  unscrupulousness  of  it  did 
not  frighten  the  clerk.  He  had  the  instincts  of  a 
financier  of  the  Greener  school. 

The  clerk  all  that  week  did  nothing  but  collect 
the  Iowa  Midland  proxies  promised  by  the  com 
plaisant  trust  companies.  They  amounted  to 
21,200  shares.  From  prominent  brokerage  houses, 
by  means  of  alluring  and  unauthorized  promises, 
he  secured  7,100  shares ;  in  all  he  had  28,300 
shares.  This  meant  that  at  the  approaching  an 
nual  meeting  Mr.  Greener  could  vote  138,900 
shares  out  of  a  possible  total  of  320,000.  Unless 
the  opposition  could  unite,  the  election  was  already 
sure  to  "  go  Mr.  Greener's  way." 

From  time  to  time,  when  the  little  financier 
would  ask  Rock  how  he  was  progressing,  the  clerk 
would  tell  him  he  was  doing  as  well  as  could  be 


THE    MAN    WHO    WON  151 

expected.  He  also  told  Mr.  Greener  that  the 
trust  companies  had  given  only  14,000  shares, 
and  he  said  nothing  whatever  of  the  7,100  shares 
he  had  secured  from  the  friendly  brokers.  It 
was  a  desperate  risk,  this  concealing  from  Mr. 
Greener  how  well  he  had  done ;  but  the  clerk 
was  bold. 

The  moment  Rock  became  convinced  that  there 
were  no  more  pro-Greener  proxies  to  be  had  by 
hook  or  crook,  he  began  his  attack  on  the  enemy. 
His  problem  was  to  capture  the  anti-Greener  votes 
—  or  stock.  He  proceeded  to  put  his  plan  into 
effect.  And  the  plan  of  this  healthy  clerk  with 
the  unflinching  eyes  and  the  resolute  chin  was 
worthy  of  the  sallow-faced  little  man  with  the  fur 
tive  look  and  the  great  forehead. 

" It  is  a  case  of  heads  I  win ;  tails  you  lose" 
Hock  muttered  to  himself,  exultingly. 

The  young  man  presented  himself  forthwith  at 
the  office  of  Weddell,  Hopkins  £  Co.,  prominent 
bankers  and  bitter  enemies  of  Mr.  John  F.  Greener 
and  his  methods.  They  knew  Rock  as  one  of  the 
confidential  clerks  of  Brown  &  Greener,  and  he 
had  no  difficulty  in  securing  an  audience  from  Mr. 
Weddell. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Weddell." 

"  Good-morning,  sir,"  said  the  banker,  coldly. 


152  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

"  I  must  say  I'm  somewhat  surprised  at  the  pre 
sumption  of  your  people  in  sending  you  to  me." 

"  Mr.  Weddell,"  said  Rock,  a  trifle  too  eagerly 
to  be  artistic,  "I've  left  the  firm  of  Brown  & 
Greener.  They  were,"  he  added,  youthfully,  "  too 
rascally  for  me." 

Mr.  WeddelTs  face  froze  solid.  He  feared  an 
application  for  a  position. 

"Ye — es?"  he  said.  His  voice  matched  his 
face  in  frigidity. 

"  Mr.  Weddell,"  said  the  young  clerk,  looking 
straight  into  the  old  banker's  eyes,  "you  in  common 
with  other  honest  men  have  been  wishing  you 
could  prevent  Mr.  Greener  from  wrecking  the  Iowa 
Midland.  Now,  Mr.  Weddell,"  he  went  on,  eager 
ly,  as  the  enthusiasm  of  the  plan  grew  upon  him, 
"  I  know  all  about  Mr.  Greener's  plans  and  re 
sources  and  I  want  you  to  help  me  fight  him.  If 
you  do  we  will  win,  sure." 

"  How  will  you  go  about  it  ? "  asked  the  old 
banker,  evasively.  He  was  not  certain  this  was  not 
some  trick  of  the  versatile  Mr.  John  F.  Greener. 

"  Mr.  Greener,"  answered  young  Rock,  "  has  not 
control  of  the  property.  He  has  only  110,600 
shares.  I  had  access  to  the  books,  and  I  know  to 
a  share." 

"  I  don't  wish  you  to  betray  an  employer's  se- 


THE   MAN   WHO   WON  153 

crets,  even  though  he  may  be  my  enemy.  I  do 
not  care  to  hear  any  more."  He  was  an  old- 
fashioned  banker,  was  Mr.  Weddell. 

"  I  am  not  betraying  any  secrets.  He  himself 
said  he  had  over  100,000  shares,  and  all  the  re 
porters  jumped  at  the  conclusion  that  he  had 
actually  a  controlling  interest.  And  that  is  what 
he  will  have,  unless  you  help  me.  I  have  proxies 
here  for  28,300  shares  from  trust  companies  and 
commission  houses.  My  plan  is  to  get  all  the 
proxies  I  can  from  the  anti-Greener  and  the  anti- 
Willetts  stockholders.  Then  we  can  make  Mr. 
Willetts  give  us  pledges  in  black  and  white  to  in 
augurate  the  much-needed  reforms  and  stop  his 
policy  of  extravagance  and  his  costly  traffic  ar 
rangements.  Willetts  will  do  it  to  save  himself 
and  the  road  from  falling  into  Greener's  hands. 
But  there's  no  time  to  lose,  Mr.  Weddell."  The 
excitement  of  the  game  he  was  playing  stimulated 
him  like  wine. 

"  And  you  ?  "  queried  the  old  banker,  meaning 
ly.  "  Where  do  yvu  come  in  ?  "  The  insinuation 
was  his  last  weapon.  The  young  man's  was  really 
the  only  feasible  plan  that  he  could  see. 

« I  ?  It  might  be,  Mr.  Weddell,  that  after  the 
election  I  could  be  appointed  assistant  secretary 
of  the  company,  as  an  evidence  of  good  faith  on 


154  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

the  part  of  the  reform  management.  I  can  keep 
tabs  on  them  and  represent  the  Weddell-Hopkins 
interest.  The  salary,"  he  added,  with  truly  artistic 
significance,  "could  be  $5,000  a  year.  I  have 
been  getting  just  one-half  that."  His  salary  was 
exactly  $1,600  ;  but  why  minimize  one's  commer 
cial  value  ? 

The  old  banker  walked  up  and  down.     .     .     . 

"  By  gad,  sir,  you  shall  have  our  proxies,"  said 
Mr.  Weddell,  at  length. 

"  It  would  be  well  not  to  let  Mr.  Greener  sus 
pect  this,"  added  Rock.  And  the  banker  agreed 
with  him. 

Weddell,  Hopkins  &  Co.  held  14,000  shares  of 
Iowa  Midland  stock,  and  on  the  next  day  Rock 
received  their  proxies.  Coming  from  so  well- 
known,  so  notoriously  anti-Greener  a  house,  they 
served  as  credentials  to  him,  and  he  was  able  to 
convince  many  doubting  Thomases.  He  secured 
proxies  from  practically  all  the  anti-Greener  stock 
held  in  the  city,  as  well  as  in  Philadelphia  and 
Boston. 

His  day-long  absences  from  the  office  aroused 
no  suspicions  there,  since  everybody  thought  he 
was  working  in  the  interest  of  Brown  &  Greener, 
including  Messrs.  Brown  &  Greener.  All  told, 
the  proxies  he  had  secured  from  Mr.  Greenes 


THE   MAN    WHO   WON  155 

friends  and  from  his  foes  amounted  to  61,830 
shares.  It  was  really  a  remarkable  performance. 
He  felt  very  proud  of  it.  As  to  consequences,  he 
had  carefully  weighed  them.  He  was  working  for 
Frederick  Rock.  He  was  bound  to  succeed,  on 
whichever  side  the  coin  came  down. 

Mr.  Greener  called  him  into  the  private  office. 

"Mr.  Rock,  how  about  those  Iowa  Midland 
proxies  ?  " 

"  I  have  them  safe,"  answered  the  clerk,  a  bit 
defiantly. 

"  How  many  ?  " 

Rock  pulled  out  a  piece  of  paper,  though  he 
knew  the  figures  by  heart.  He  said,  in  a  tone  he 
endeavored  to  make  nonchalant :  "  I  have  exactly 
61,830  shares." 

"What?  What?"  The  Napoleon's  voice  over 
flowed  with  astonishment. 

Rock  looked  straight  into  Greener's  shifty  brown 
eyes.  "  I  said,"  he  repeated,  "  that  I  had  proxies 
for  61,830  shares." 

Mr.  Greener  remembered  himself.  "  I  congrat 
ulate  you,  Mr.  Rock,  on  keeping  your  word.  You 
will  find  I  keep  mine  equally  well,"  he  said  in  his 
normal  squeak. 

"  We  may  as  well  have  an  understanding  now 
as  any  other  time,  Mr.  Greener."  Rock's  eyes  did 


156  WALL   STREET  STORIES 

not  leave  the  sallow  face  of  the  great  railroad 
wrecker.  He  knew  he  had  crossed  the  Rubicon. 
He  was  fighting  for  his  future,  for  the  prosperity 
of  his  dreams.  And  he  was  fighting  a  giant  of 
giants.  All  this  the  clerk  thought ;  and  the 
thought  braced  him  wonderfully.  He  became 
self-possessed,  discriminating  —  a  Napoleonic  bud 
about  to  burst  into  full  bloom. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  squeaked  Mr.  Greener, 
naively. 

Mr.  Brown  entered.  He  was  just  in  time  to 
hear  the  clerk  say :  "  You  have,  all  told,  110,000 
shares  of  Iowa  Midland.  President  Willetts  and 
his  crowd  control  about  the  same  amount." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  sallow-faced  little  man.  His 
forehead  was  moist  —  barely  moist  —  with  perspi 
ration,  but  his  face  was  expressionless.  His  eyes 
were  less  furtive ;  that  was  all.  He  was  looking 
intently  now  at  the  young  clerk,  for  he  under 
stood. 

"  Well,  some  of  the  proxies  stand  in  the  name 
of  Frederick  Rock  or  John  F.  Greener,  but  the 
greater  part  in  my  name  alone.  I  can  vote  the 
entire  lot  as  I  please.  And  whichever  side  I  vote 
for  will  have  an  absolute  majority.  Mr.  Greener, 
I  have  the  naming  of  the  directors,  and  therefore 
of  the  president  of  the  Iowa  Midland.  And  you 


THE   MAN   WHO   WON  157 

can't  prevent  me  ;  and  you  can't  touch  me ;  and 
you  can't  do  a  d — d  thing  to  me  ! "  he  ended,  de 
fiantly.  It  was  nearly  all  superfluous,  inartistic. 
But,  youth  —  a  defect  one  overcomes  with  time  ! 

"  You  infernal  scoundrel ! "  shouted  Mr.  Brown. 
He  had  a  short,  thick  neck,  and  anger  made  his 
face  dangerously  purple. 

"I  secured  most  of  the  proxies,"  continued 
Rock,  in  a  tone  that  savored  slightly  of  self-defence, 
"  by  assuring  Weddell,  Hopkins  &  Co.  and  their 
friends  that  I  would  vote  against  Mr.  Greener." 
He  paused. 

"  Go  ahead,  Mr.  Rock,"  squeaked  Mr.  Greener ; 
"  don't  be  afraid  to  talk."  The  pale  little  man 
with  the  black  beard  and  the  high  forehead  not 
only  had  a  great  genius  for  finance,  but  possessed 
wonderful  nerve.  His  squeak  was  an  inconsist 
ency  ;  but  it  served  to  make  him  human. 

"  You  offered  me  $10,000  cash  and  $2,000  a 
year." 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Mr.  Greener,  meekly.  "  How 
much  do  you  want  ? "  His  look  became  furtive 
again.  A  great  weight  had  been  removed  from 
his  mind.  Rock  perceived  it  and  became  even 
more  courageous. 

"Weddell,  Hopkins  &  Co.  and  their  friends 
want  me  to  vote  the  Willetts  ticket,  Mr.  Willetts 


158  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

having  promised  to  make  important  reforms.  My 
reward  is  to  be  the  position  of  assistant  secretary, 
with  headquarters  in  New  York,  at  a  salary  of 
$5,000  a  year,  to  say  nothing  of  the  backing  of 
Weddell,  Hopkins  &  Co." 

"  HI  do  as  much  and  give  you  $20,000  in  cash," 
said  Mr.  Greener,  quietly. 

"No.  I  want  to  join  the  New  York  Stock 
Exchange.  I  want  you  to  buy  me  a  seat  and  I 
want  you  to  give  me  some  of  your  business.  And 
I  want  you  to  lend  me  $50,000  on  my  note." 

"Yes?" 

"  Mr.  Greener,  you  know  what  I  can  do ;  and 
I  know  what  the  absolute  control  of  the  Iowa  Mid 
land  means  to  you,  and  what  the  consolidation  with 
Keokuk  &  Northern  or  the  lease  of  the  one  by  the 
other  would  do  for  both  of  them  —  and  for  you. 
And  I  want  to  be  your  broker.  I'll  serve  you 
faithfully,  Mr.  Greener." 

"  Rock,"  squeaked  Mr.  Greener,  "  shake  hands. 
I  understand  just  how  you  feel  about  this.  I'll 
buy  you  a  seat  and  I'll  give  you  all  the  business  I 
can,  and  I'll  lend  you  $100,000  without  any  note. 
I  think  I  know  you  now.  The  seat  you  shall  have 
just  as  soon  as  it  can  be  bought.  My  interests 
shall  be  your  interests  in  the  future." 

"  I've  made  all  the  necessary  arrangements.     I 


THE   MAN   WHO   WON  159 

can  buy  the  seat  at  a  moment's  notice,"  said  Rock, 
calmly,  though  his  heart  was  beating  wildly  for 
sheer  joy  of  victory.  "  It  will  cost  $23,000." 

"Tell  Mr.  Simpson  to  make  out  my  personal 
check  for  $25,000,"  piped  the  Napoleon  of  the 
Street,  almost  cordially. 

"Th-thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Greener," 
stammered  the  bold  clerk.  "  The  proxies " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  interrupted  Mr.  John  F. 
Greener.  "You'll  go  to  Des  Moines  with  us. 
You're  one  of  us  now.  I've  long  wanted  a  man 
like  you.  But,  Rock,  nowadays,  young  men  are 
either  gamblers  or  fools,"  he  added,  with  a  final 
plaintive  squeak. 

A  week  later  Mr.  Greener  was  elected  president 
of  the  Iowa  Midland  Railway  Company  and  Mr. 
Rock  was  elected  a  member  of  the  New  York  Stock 
Exchange. 


THE  LOST   OPPORTUNITY 


THE  LOST  OPPORTUNITY 

For  many  years  Daniel  Dittenhoeffer  had  desired 
the  ruin  of  John  F.  Greener.  "Dutch  Dan,"  as 
the  Street  called  Dittenhoeffer  was  a  burly  man 
with  very  blonde  hair,  a  very  red  nose  and  a  very 
loud  voice.  Greener  was  a  sallow,  swarthy  bit  of 
a  man,  with  black  hair  and  a  squeaky  voice.  He 
had  furtive  brown  eyes  and  a  very  high  forehead ; 
while  Dittenhoeffer  had  frank  blue  eyes  and  the 
pugnacious  chin  and  thick  neck  of  a  prize  fighter. 
Both  were  members  of  the  New  York  Stock  Ex 
change  but  Greener  was  never  seen  on  the  "floor" 
after  one  of  his  victims  lifted  him  bodily  by  the 
collar  and  dropped  him  fifteen  feet  into  a  coal 
cellar  on  Exchange  Place.  He  would  plan  the 
wrecks  of  railroad  systems  as  a  measure  prelimi 
nary  to  their  absorption,  just  as  a  boa  constrictor 
crushes  its  victims  'into  pulp  the  more  easily  to 
swallow  them.  But  the  practice,  unchecked  for 
years,  had  made  him  nervous  and  soul-fidgetty. 

Dan  spent  his  days  from  10  to  3  on  the  Stock 

Exchange  and  his  nights  from  10  to  3  at  the 

roulette  tables  or  before  a  faro  lay-out.     Restless 

as  the  quivering  sea  and  suffering  from  chronic 

163 


164  WALL  STREET   STORIES 

insomnia,  he  had  perforce  to  satisfy  his  constitu 
tional  craving  for  powerful  stimulants,  but  as  he 
hated  delirium  tremens  he  gave  himself  ceaselessly 
big  doses  of  the  wine  of  gambling  —  it  does  as 
much  for  the  nerves  as  the  very  best  whiskey.  He 
would  buy  or  sell  50,000  shares  of  a  stock  and 
he  would  bet  $50,000  on  the  turn  of  a  card.  On 
an  occasion  he  offered  to  wager  a  fortune  that  he 
could  guess  which  of  two  flies  that  had  alit  on 
a  table  would  be  the  first  to  fly  away.  Greener 
found,  in  the  Stock  Exchange,  the  means  to  a  de 
sired  end.  Despite  innumerable  bits  of  stock  job 
bing,  he  had  no  exalted  opinion,  in  his  heart  of 
hearts,  of  stock  operations.  But  Dittenhoeffer 
thought  the  stock  market  was  the  court  of  last 
resort,  whither  financiers  should  go,  when  they 
were  in  the  right,  to  get  their  deserts  ;  and  when 
they  were  in  the  wrong  to  overcome  their  deserts  by 
the  brute  force  of  dollars.  It  was  natural  that  in 
their  operations  in  the  market  the  two  men  should 
be  as  dissimilar  as  they  were  in  their  physical  and 
temperamental  characteristics  —  Machiavelli  and 
Richard  Cosur-de-Lion. 

Nobody  knew  exactly  how  the  enmity  between 
Greener  and  Dittenhoeffer  began.  The  "Little 
Napoleon  of  Railroading  "  had  felt  toward  Dutch 
Dan  a  certain  passive  hostility  for  interference 


THE   LOST   OPPORTUNITY  165 

with  sundry  stock  market  deals.  But  Dan  hated 
Greener  madly,  probably  for  the  same  reason  that 
a  hawk  may  have  for  hating  a  snake  :  the  instinc 
tive  antipathy  of  the  utterly  dissimilar. 

Scores  of  men  had  tried  to  "  bust "  Greener,  but 
Greener  had  grown  the  richer  by  their  efforts,  the 
growth  of  his  fortune  being  proportionate  to  the 
contraction  of  theirs.  Sam  Sharpe  had  come  from 
Arizona  with  $12,000,000  avowedly  to  show  the 
effete  East  how  to  crush  "financial  skunks  of 
the  Greener  class."  And  the  financial  skunk 
learned  no  new  lesson,  though  the  privilege  of 
imagining  he  was  giving  one  cost  Sharpe  a  half- 
million  a  month  for  nearly  one  year.  Then,  after 
Sharpe  had  learned  more  of  the  game  —  and  of 
Greener  — he  joined  hands  with  Dittenhoeffer  and 
together  they  attacked  Greener.  They  were  skil 
ful  stock  operators,  very  rich  and  utterly  without 
financial  fear.  And  they  loathed  Greener.  In  a 
more  gorgeous  age  they  would  have  cut  the  Little 
Napoleon  to  pieces  and  passed  his  roasted  heart 
on  a  platter  around  the  festive  board.  In  the  col 
orless  XIX  century  they  were  fain  to  content 
themselves  with  endeavoring  to  despoil  him  of  his 
tear-stained  millions ;  to  do  which  they  united  their 
own  smile-wreathed  millions  —  some  seven  or  eight 
of  them  — and  opened  fire.  Their  combined  fortune 


166  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

was  divided  into  ten  projectiles  and  one  after  an 
other  hurled  at  the  little  man  with  the  squeaky 
voice  and  the  high  forehead.  The  little  man 
dodged  the  first  and  the  second  and  the  third,  but 
the  fourth  broke  his  leg  and  the  fifth  knocked  the 
wind  out  of  him.  The  Street  cheered  and  showed 
its  confidence  in  the  artillerists  by  going  short  of 
the  Greener  stocks.  But  just  before  the  sixth 
shot  Greener  called  to  his  assistance  old  Wilbur 
Wise,  the  man  with  the  skin-flinty  heart  and 
thirty  millions  in  cash.  A  protecting  rampart, 
man-high,  of  government  bonds  was  raised  about 
the  prostrate  Napoleon  and  the  financial  cannon 
eers  ceased  firing  precious  projectiles.  ,  The  new 
fortifications  were  impregnable  and  they  knew  it ; 
so  they  contented  themselves  with  gathering  up 
their  own  shot  and  a  small  railroad  or  two  dropped 
by  Greener  in  his  haste  to  seek  shelter.  Then 
Sharpe  went  to  England  to  win  the  Derby  and 
Dittenhoeffer  went  to  Long  Branch  to  amuse  him 
self  playing  a  no-limit  faro  game  that  cost  him 
on  an  average  $10,000  a  night  for  a  month. 

There  was  a  period  of  peace  in  Wall  Street  fol 
lowing  the  last  encounter  between  the  diminutive 
Napoleon  and  Dutch  Dan.  But  after  a  few  months 
the  fight  resumed.  Greener  was  desirous  of  "bull 
ing"  his  stocks  generally  and  his  pet,  Federal 


THE   LOST   OPPORTUNITY  167 

Telegraph  Company,  particularly.  Just  to  show 
there  was  no  need  to  hurry  the  "  bull "  or  upward 
movement  Dan  sold  the  stock  "  short "  every  time 
Greener  tried  to  advance  the  price.  Four  times 
did  Greener  try  and  four  times  Dittenhoeffer  sold 
him  a  few  thousand  shares  — just  enough  to  check 
the  advance.  Up  to  a  certain  point  a  manipulator 
of  stocks  is  successful.  His  manipulation  may 
comprise  many  ingenious  and  complex  actions  and 
devices,  but  the  elemental  fact  in  bull  manipula 
tion  is  to  buy  more  than  the  other  fellow  can  or 
wishes  to  sell.  Greener  was  willing  to  buy,  but  Dan 
was  even  more  willing  to  sell. 

Greener  really  was  in  desperate  straits.  He  was 
committed  to  many  important  enterprises.  To 
carry  them  out  he  needed  cash  and  the  banks, 
fearful  of  stock  market  possibilities,  were  loath  to 
lend  him  enough.  Besides  which,  there  was  the 
desire  on  the  part  of  the  banks'  directors  to  pick 
up  fine  bargains  should  their  refusal  to  lend 
Greener  money  force  him  to  throw  overboard  the 
greater  part  of  his  load.  Greener  had  despoiled 
innumerable  widows  and  orphans  in  his  railroad 
wrecking  schemes.  The  money  lenders  should 
avenge  the  widows  and  orphans.  It  was  a  good 
deed.  There  was  not  a  doubt  of  it  in  their 
minds. 


J68  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

Federal  Telegraph,  in  which  Greener's  commit 
ments  were  heaviest,  had  been  slowly  sinking. 
Successful  in  other  quarters  of  the  market,  Dutch 
Dan  decided  to  "  whack  the  everlasting  daylights 
out  of  Fed.  Tel."  He  went  about  it  calmly,  just 
as  he  played  roulette  —  selling  it  methodically, 
ceaselessly,  depressingly.  And  the  price  wilted. 
Greener,  unsuccessful  in  other  quarters  of  the 
Street,  decided  it  was  time  to  do  something  to 
save  himself.  He  needed  only  $5,000,000.  At 
a  pinch  $3,000,000  might  do ;  or,  for  the  mo 
ment,  even  $2,500,000.  But  he  must  have  the 
money  at  once.  Delay  meant  danger  and  dan 
ger  meant  Dittenhoeffer  and  Dittenhoeffer  might 
mean  death. 

Of  a  sudden,  rising  from  nowhere,  fathered  by 
no  one,  the  rumor  whirled  about  the  Street  that 
Greener  was  in  difficulties.  Financial  ghouls  ran 
to  the  banks  and  interviewed  the  presidents. 
They  asked  no  questions  in  order  to  get  no  lies. 
They  simply  said,  as  though  they  knew  :  "Greener 
is  on  his  uppers.1' 

The  bank  presidents  smiled,  indulgently,  almost 
pityingly  :  "  Oh,  you've  just  heard  it,  have  you  ? 
We've  known  it  for  six  weeks  ! " 

Back  to  the  Stock  Exchange  rushed  the  ghouls 
to  sell  the  Greener  stocks  —  not  Federal  Telegraph 


THE   LOST  OPPORTUNITY  169 

which  was  really  a  good  property,  but  his  reor 
ganized  roads,  whose  renascence  was  so  recent  that 
they  had  not  grown  into  fall  strength.  Down 
went  prices  and  up  went  the  whisper :  "  Ditten- 
hoeffer's  got  Greener  at  last ! " 

A  thousand  brokers  rushed  to  find  their  dear 
friend  Dan  to  congratulate  him  —  Napoleon's  con 
queror,  the  hero  of  the  hour,  the  future  dispenser 
of  liberal  commissions.  But  dear  Dan  could  not 
be  found.  He  was  not  on  the  "  floor  "  of  the  Ex 
change  nor  at  his  office. 

Some  one  had  sought  Dittenhoeffer  before  the 
brokers  thought  of  congratulating  him  —  some  one 
who  was  the  greatest  gambler  of  all,  greater  even 
than  Dutch  Dan  —  a  little  man  with  furtive  brown 
eyes  and  a  squeaky  voice ;  also  a  wonderful  fore 
head  :  Mr.  John  F.  Greener. 

"  Mr.  Dittenhoeffer,  I  sent  for  you  to  ask  you 
a  question,11  he  squeaked,  calmly.  He  stood  be 
side  a  garrulous  ticker. 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Greener."  And  Dittenhoeffer 
instantly  had  a  vision  of  humble  requests  to  "  let 
up.""  And  he  almost  formulated  the  very  words 
of  a  withering  refusal. 

"  Would  you  execute  an  order  from  me  ?  " 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Greener.  I'll  execute  any 
body's  orders.  I'm  a  broker." 


170  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

"Very  well.  Sell  50,000  shares  of  Federal 
Telegraph  Company  for  me." 

"  What  price  ?  "  jotting  down  the  figures,  from 
force  of  habit,  his  mind  being  paralyzed. 

"  The  best  you  can  get.  The  stock,"  glancing 
at  the  tape,  "is  91." 

"  Very  well." 

The  two  men  looked  at  one  another  —  Dutch 
Dan  half  menacingly,  Greener,  calmly,  steadily, 
his  furtive  eyes  almost  truthful. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Dittenhoeffer  at  length 
and  the  little  man's  high-browed  head  nodded  dis- 
missingly. 

Dittenhoeffer  hastened  back  to  the  Exchange. 
At  the  entrance  he  met  his  partner,  Smith  —  the 
"  Co."  of  D.  Dittenhoeffer  &  Co. 

"  Bill,  I've  just  got  an  order  from  Greener  to 
sell  50,000  shares  of  Federal  Telegraph." 

"  Wh-what  ?  "  gasped  Smith. 

"  Greener  sent  for  me,  asked  me  whether  I'd  ac 
cept  an  order  from  him,  I  said  yes,  and  he  told  me 
to  sell  50,000  shares  of  Telegraph,  and  I'm '' 

"  You've  got  him,  Dan.  You've  got  him,"  ex 
ultantly. 

"  I'm  going  to  cover  my  20,000  shares  with  the 
first  half  of  the  order  and  sell  the  rest  the  best  I 
can," 


THE   LOST   OPPORTUNITY  171 

"  Man  alive,  this  is  your  chance  !  Don't  you 
see  youVe  got  him  ?  Smilie  of  the  Eastern  Na 
tional  Bank  tells  me  there  isn't  a  bank  in  the  city 
will  lend  Greener  money,  and  he  needs  it  badly  to 
pay  the  last  $10,000,000  to  the  Indian  Pacific 
bondholders.  He's  bit  off  more  than  he  can  chew, 
damn  'im  ! " 

"  Well,  Bill,  we'll  treat  Mr.  Greener  as  we  do 
any  other  customer,"  said  Dittenhoeffer. 

"  But  —  "  began  Smith,  with  undisguised  con 
sternation  ;  he  was  an  honest  man,  when  away 
from  the  Street. 

"  Oh,  I'll  get  him  yet.  This  won't  save  him. 
I'll  get  him  yet,"  with  a  confident  smile. 

It  would  have  been  very  easy  for  him  to  take 
advantage  of  Greener's  order  to  make  a  fortune. 
He  was  short  20,000  shares  which  he  had  put  out 
at  an  average  price  of  93.  He  could  have  taken 
Greener's  block  of  50,000  shares  and  hurled  it 
bodily  at  the  market.  Not  even  a  gilt-edge  stock 
could  withstand  the  impact  of  such  a  fearful  blow, 
and  the  price  of  Federal  Telegraph  doubtless 
would  have  broken  15  points  or  more,  and  he 
could  easily  have  taken  in  his  shorts  at  75  or  pos 
sibly  even  at  70  —  which  would  have  meant  a 
profit  of  a  half-million  of  dollars  —  and  a  loss  of 
a  much  needed  million  to  his  arch-foe,  Greener. 


172  WALL   STREET  STORIES 

And  if  he  allowed  his  partner  to  whisper  in  strict 
confidence  to  some  friend  how  Dan  was  selling  out 
a  big  line  of  Telegraph  for  Greener  the  "  Room  " 
would  have  gone  wild  and  everybody  would  have 
hastened  to  sell  and  the  decline  would  have  gone 
so  much  further  as  to  cripple  the  little  Napoleon 
possibly  beyond  all  hope  of  recovery.  Had 
Greener  made  the  most  colossal  mistake  of  his 
life  in  giving  the  order  to  his  enemy  ? 

Dan  went  to  the  Federal  Telegraph  post  where 
a  score  of  madmen  were  shouting  at  the  top  of 
their  voices  the  prices  they  were  willing  to  pay  or 
to  accept  for  varying  amounts  of  the  stock.  He 
gave  to  twenty  brokers  orders  to  sell  1,000  shares 
each  at  the  best  obtainable  price  and  he  himself, 
through  another  man  took  an  equal  amount.  On 
the  next  day  he  in  person  sold  20,000  shares  and 
on  the  third  day  the  last  10,000  shares  of  Green 
er's  order.  This  selling,  the  Street  thought,  was 
for  his  own  account.  It  was  all  short  stock  ;  that 
is,  his  colleagues  thought  he  was  selling  stock  he 
didn't  own,  trusting  later  on  to  buy  it  back 
cheaply.  Such  selling  never  has  the  depressing 
effect  of  "  long  "  stock  because  it  is  obvious  that 
the  short  seller  must  sooner  or  later  buy  the  stock 
in,  insuring  a  future  demand,  which  should  exert 
a  lifting  influence  on  prices  ;  for 


THE   LOST  OPPORTUNITY  173 

**  He  who  sells  what  isn't  h'us'n 
Must  buy  it  back  or  go  to  prison." 

And  Dittenhoeffer  was  able  to  get  an  average 
of  $86  per  share  for  Greener's  50,000  shares  of 
Federal  Telegraph  Company  stock,  for  the  Street 
agreed,  with  many  headshakings,  that  Dan  was 
becoming  too  reckless  and  Greener  was  a  slippery 
little  cuss  and  the  short  interest  must  be  simply 
enormous  and  the  danger  of  a  bad  "  squeeze  "  ex 
ceedingly  great.  Wherefore,  they  forebore  to 
"whack"  Telegraph.  Indeed,  many  shrewd 
traders  saw,  in  the  seeming  weakness  of  the  stock, 
a  trap  of  the  wily  little  Napoleon  and  they 
"fooled"  him  by  astutely  buying  Federal  Tele 
graph  ! 

With  the  $4,300,000  which  he  received  from 
the  sale  of  the  big  block  of  stock,  Greener  overcame 
his  other  troubles  and  carried  out  all  his  plans. 
It  was  a  daring  stroke,  to  trust  to  a  stock  broker's 
professional  honor.  It  made  him  the  owner  of  a 
great  railroad  system.  Dutch  Dan's  attacks  later 
did  absolutely  no  harm.  Greener  had  made  an 
opportunity  and  Dittenhoeffer  had  lost  one. 


PIKE'S  PEAK  OR  BUST 


1 


PIKE'S   PEAK  OR  BUST 

HE  was  only  seventeen,  fair-haired  and  rosy- ' 
cheeked,  with  girlish  blue  eyes,  when  he  applied 
for  the  vacancy  in  the  office  of  Tracy  &  Middle- 
ton,  Bankers  and  Brokers.  His  name  was  Willis 
N.  Hayward,  and  he  was  a  proud  boy,  indeed, 
when  he  was  selected  out  of  twenty  "  applicants  " 
to  be  telephone-clerk  for  the  firm. 

From  10  A.M.  until  3  P.M.  he  stood  by  Tracy 
&  Middleton's  private  telephone  on  the  floor  of 
the  Stock  Exchange  —  the  Board  Room  —  receiv 
ing  messages  from  the  office  —  chiefly  orders  to 
buy  or  sell  stocks  for  customers  —  and  transmitting 
the  same  messages  to  the  "  Board  member "  of 
the  firm,  Mr.  Middleton ;  also  telephoning  Mr. 
Middleton's  reports  to  the  office.  He  spoke  with' 
a  soft,  refined  voice,  and  his  blue  eyes  beamed  so 
ingenuously  upon  the  other  telephone-boys  in  the 
same  row  of  booths,  that  they  said  they  had  a 
Sally  in  their  alley,  and  they  immediately  nick 
named  him  Sally,, 

'It  was  all  very  wonderful  to  young  Hayward, 
who  had  been  out  of  boarding-school  but  a  few 
months  —  the  excited  rushing  hither  and  thither 
177 


178  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

of  worried-looking  men,  the  frantic  waving  of 
hands,  the  maniacal  yelling  of  the  brokers  execu 
ting  their  Borders  about  the  various  "  posts,"  and 
their  sudden  relapse  into  semi-sanity  as  they  jot 
ted  down  the  price  at  which  they  ;had  sold  or 
bought  stocks.  It  was  not  surprising  that  he 
should  fail  to  understand  just  how  they  did  busi 
ness  ;  but  what  most  impressed  him  was  the  fact, 
vouched  for  by  his  colleagues,  that  these  same 
clamoring,  gesticulating  brokers  were  actually 
supposed  to  make  a  great  deal  of  money.,  He 
heard  of  "  Sam  "  Sharped  $100,000  winnings  in 
Suburban  Trolley,  and  of"  Parson  "  Black's  famous 
million-dollar  coup  in  Western  Delaware  —  the  lit 
tle  gray  man  even  being  pointed  out  to  him  in 
corroboration.  But,  then,  he  had  also  heard  of 
Aladdin  and  the  Wonderful  Lamp,  and  Jack  the 
Giant  Killer. 

He  learned  the  business,  as  nearly  all  boys 
must  do  in  Wall  Street,  by  absorption.  If  he 
asked  questions  he  received  replies,  but  no  one 
volunteered  any  information  for  his  guidance,  and 
in  self-defence  he  was  forced  to  observe  closely,  to 
see  how  others  did,  and  to  remark  what  came  of 
it.  He  heard  nothing  but  speculate !  speculate ! 
in  one  guise  or  another,  many  words  for  the  same 
meaning.  It  was  all  buying  or  selling  of  stocks  — 


PIKE'S    PEAK   OR   BUST  179 

a  concentrated  and  almost  visible  hope  of  making 
much  money  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Nobody 
talked  of  anything  else  on  the  Exchange.  Bosom 
friends  met  at  the  opening  of  business  and  did  not 
say  "  Good-morning,"  but  plunged  without  pre 
amble  into  the  only  subject  on  earth  —  specula 
tion.  And  if  one  of  them  arrived  late  he  inevi 
tably  inquired  forthwith,  "  How's  the  market  ? " 
—  asked  it  eagerly,  anxiously,  as  if  fearful  that 
the  market  had  taken  advantage  of  his  absence 
to  misconduct  itself.  The  air  was  almost  un- 
breathable  for  the  innumerable  "  tips  "  to  buy  or 
sell  securities  and  insecurities  of  all  kinds.  The 
brokers,  the  customers,  the  clerks,  the  Exchange 
door-keepers,  all  Wall  Street  read  the  morning 
papers,  not  to  ascertain  the  news,  but  to  pick  such 
items  as  would,  should,  or  might,  have  some  effect 
on  stock  values.  There  was  no  god  but  the  ticker, 
ami  the  brokers  were  its  prophets ! 

All  about  Sally  were  hundreds  of  men  who 
looked  as  if  they  took  their  thoughts  home  with 
them  and  dined  with  them  and  slept  with  them  and 
dreamed  of  them — the  look  had  become  settled,  im 
mutable.  And  it  was  not  a  pleasant  look,  about 
the  eyes  and  lips.  He  saw  everywhere  the  feverish- 
ness  of  the  "  game."  Insensibly  the  atmosphere  of 
the  place  affected  him, colored  his  thoughts,  induced 


180  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

certain  fancies.  As  he  became  more  familiar  with 
the  technique  of  the  business  he  grew  to  believe, 
like  thousands  of  youthful  or  superficial  observers, 
that  stock-market  movements  were  comparable 
only  to  the  gyrations  of  the  little  ivory  ball  about 
the  roulette-wheel.,  The  innumerable  tricks  of 
the  trade,  the  uses  of  inside  misinformation,  the 
rationale  of  stock-market  manipulation,  were  a 
sealed  book  to  him.  He  heard  only  that  his 
eighteen-year-old  neighbor  made  $60  buying 
twenty  shares  of  Blue  Belt  Line  on  Thursday  and 
selling  them  on  Saturday,  3|  points  higher ;  or 
that  Micky  Welch,  Stuart  &  Stern's  telephone-boy, 
had  a  "tip"1  from  one  of  the  big  room  traders  which 
he  bravely  "  played  "  —  as  you  "  play  "  horse  or 
"  play1'  the  red  or  the  black  —  and  cleared  $125  in 
less  than  a  week  ;  or  that  Watson,  a  "  two-dollar  " 
broker,  made  a  "nice  turn"  selling  Southern 
Shore.  Or  else  he  heard,  punctuated  with  poig 
nant  oaths,  how  Charlie  Miller,  one  of  the  New 
Street  door-keepers,  lost  $230  buying  Pennsylva 
nia  Central,  after  he  accidentally  overheard  Archie 
Chase,  who  was  "  Sam  "  Sharpens  principal  broker, 
tell  a  friend  that  the  "  Old  Man "  said  "  Pa. 
Cent.'*'  was  due  for  a  ten-point  rise ;  instead  of 
which  there  had  been  a  seven-point  decline.  Al 
ways  the  boy  heard  about  the  apparently  irre- 


PIKE'S   PEAK   OR  BUST  181 

sponsible  "  bulges  "  and  "  drops,"  of  the  winnings 
of  the  men  who  happened  to  guess  correctly,  or 
of  the  losses  of  those  who  had  failed  to  "  call  the 
turn."  Even  the  vernacular  of  the  place  savored 
of  the  technicalities  of  a  gambling-house. 

'' As  time  wore  on  the  glamour  of  the  game  wore 
off;  likewise  his  scruples.  His  employers  and  their 
customers  —  all  gentlemanly,  agreeable  people  — 
speculated  ever,y  day,  and  nobody  found  fault 
with  them.  It  was  not  a  sin  ;  it  was  a  regular 
business.  And  so,  whenever  there  was  a  "  good 
thing,"  he  "  chipped  in  "  one  dollar  to  a  telephone- 
boys1  "  pool "  that  later  operated  in  a  New  Street 
bucket  shop  to  the  extent  of  ten  shares.¥/  His 
means  were  small,  his  salary  being  only  $8  a 
week  ;  and  very  often  he  thought  that  if  he  only 
had  a  little  more  money  he  would  speculate  on  a 
larger  scale  and  profit  proportionately.  If  each 
time  he  had  bought  one  share  he  had  held  twenty 
instead,  he  figured  that  he  would  have  made  no 
less  than  $400  in  three  months. 

*'  The  time  is  ripe  for  other  things  when  a  boy 
begins  to  reason  that  way.  Having  no  scruples 
against  speculating,  the  problem  with  him  became 
not,  "  Is  it  wrong  to  speculate  ? "  but  rather, 
"  What  shall  I  do  to  raise  money  for  margin  pur 
poses  ? "  It  took  nearly  four  months  for  him  to 


182  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

arrive  at  this  stage  of  mind.  With  many  boys 
the  question  is  asked  and  satisfactorily  solved 
within  three  weeks.  But  Hayward  was  an  excep 
tionally  nice  chap.^ 

Now,  the  position  of  telephone-boy  is  really 
important  in  that  it  requires  not  only  a  quick 
witted  but  a  trustworthy  person  to  fill  it.  In 
the  first  place,  the  boy  knows  whether  his  firm 
is  buying  or  selling  certain  stocks  ;  he  must  exer 
cise  discrimination  in  the  matter  of  awarding  the 
orders,  should  the  Board  member  of  the  firm  hap 
pen  to  be  unavailable  when  the  boy  receives  the 
order.  For  example  :  International  Pipe  may  be 
selling  at  108.  A  man  in  Tracy  &  Middleton's 
office,  who  has  bought  500  shares  of  it  at  104, 
wishes  to  "  corral "  his  profits.  He  gives  an  order 
to  the  firm  to  sell  the  stock,  let  us  say,  "  at  the 
market,"  that  is,  at  the  ruling  market  price. 
Tracy  &  Middleton  immediately  telephone  over 
their  private  line  to  the  Stock  Exchange  to  their 
Board  member  to  "sell  500  shares  of  Interna 
tional  Pipe  at  the  market."  The  telephone- boy 
receives  the  message  and  "  puts  up  "  Mr.  Middle- 
ton's  number,  which  means  that  on  the  multi 
colored,  checkered  strip  on  the  frieze  of  the  New 
Street  wall,  Mr.  Middleton's  number,  611,  ap 
pears  by  means  of  an  electrical  device.  The  mo- 


PIKE'S   PEAK   OR   BUST  183 

ment  Mr.  Middleton  sees  that  his  number  is  "  up," 
he  hastens  to  the  telephone-booth  to  ascertain  what 
is  wanted.  Now,  if  Mr.  Middleton  delays  in  answer 
ing  his  number  the  telephone-boy  knows  he  is  ab 
sent,  and  gives  the  order  to  a  "  two-dollar  "  broker, 
like  Mr.  Browning  or  Mr.  Watson,  who  always 
hover  about  the  booths  looking  for  orders.  He 
does  the  same  if  he  knows  that  Mr.  Middleton  is 
very  busy  executing  some  other  order,  or  if,  in 
his  judgment,  the  order  calls  for  immediate  ex 
ecution.  The  two-dollar  broker  sells  the  500  shares 
of  International  Pipe  to  Allen  &  Smith,  and 
"  gives  up "  Tracy  &  Middleton  on  the  transac 
tion,  that  is,  he  notifies  the  purchaser  that  he  is 
acting  for  T.  &  M.,  and  Allen  &  Smith  must  look 
to  the  latter  firm  —  the  real  sellers  —  for  the  stock 
bought.  For  this  service  the  broker  employed  by 
Tracy  &  Middleton  receives  the  sum  of  $2  for 
each  100  shares,  while  Tracy  &  Middleton,  of 
course,  charge  their  customers  the  regular  com 
mission  of  one  eighth  of  one  per  cent.,  or  $12.50 
per  each  hundred  shares. 

Young  Hayward  attended  to  his  business  close 
ly,  and  when  Mr.  Middleton  was  absent  from  the 
floor,  or  busy,  he  impartially  distributed  the  firm's 
telephoned  buying  or  selling  orders  among  the 
two-dollar  brokers,  for  Tracy  &  Middleton  did  a 


184  WALL   STREET  STORIES 

very  good  commission  business  indeed.  He  was  a 
nice-looking  and  nice-acting  little  chap,  was  Hay- 
ward —  clean -faced,  polite,  and  amiable.  The 
brokers  liked  him,  and  they  "  remembered  "  him  at 
Christmas.  The  best  memory  was  possessed  by 
"  Joe  "  Jacobs,  who  gave  him  $25,  and  insinuated 
that  he  would  like  to  do  more  of  Tracy  &  Middle- 
ton's  business  than  he  had  been  getting. 

"But,"  said  Sally,  "the  firm  said  I  was  to 
give  the  order  to  whichever  broker  I  found  first." 

"  Well,"  said  Jacobs,  oleaginously,  "  I  am  never 
too  busy  to  take  orders  from  such  a  nice  young 
fellow  as  yourself,  if  you  take  the  trouble  to  find 
me ;  and  I'll  do  something  nice  for  you.  Look 
here,"  in  a  whisper,  "if  you  give  me  plenty  of 
business,  111  give  you  $5  a  week."  And  he  dived 
into  the  mob  that  was  yelling  itself  hoarse  about 
the  Gotham  Gas  post. 

Hayward's  first  impulse  was  to  tell  his  firm 
about  it,  because  he  felt  vaguely  that  Jacobs  would 
not  have  offered  him  $5  a  week  if  he  had  not  ex 
pected  something  dishonorable  in  return.  Before 
the  market  closed,  however,  he  spoke  to  Willie 
Simpson,  MaeDufF  &  Wilkinson's  boy,  whose  tele 
phone  was  next  to  Tracy  &  Middleton's.  Sure 
enough,  Willie  expressed  great  indignation  at  Ja- 
cobs's  action. 


PIKE'S   PEAK   OR  BUST  185 

"It's  just  like  that  old  skunk,"  said  Willie. 
"  Five  dollars  a  week,  when  he  can  make  $100  out 
of  the  firm.  Don't  you  do  it,  Sally.  Why,  Jim 
Burr,  who  had  the  place  before  you,  used  to  get 
$20  a  week  from  old  man  Grant  and  $50  a  month 
from  Wolff.  You've  got  a  cinch,  if  you  only 
know  how  to  work  it.  Why,  they  are  supposed  to 
give  you  fifty  cents  a  hundred."  Willie  had  been 
in  the  business  for  two  years,  and  he  was  a  very 
well-dressed  youth,  indeed.  Sally  now  under 
stood  how  he  managed  it  on  a  salary  of  $12 
a  week. 

He  did  not  say  anything  to  the  firm  that  day, 
nor  any  other  day.  And  he  didn't  say  anything 
to  Jacobs  in  return,  but,  by  Willie's  sage  advice, 
contented  himself  with  merely  withholding  all  or 
ders  from  that  oleaginous  personage,  until  Mr. 
Jacobs  was  moved  to  remonstrate.  And  Sally, 
who  had  learned  a  great  deal  in  a  week  under 
Willie's  tuition,  answered  curtly :  "  Business  is 
very  bad ;  the  firm  is  doing  hardly  anything." 

"But  Watson  told  me,"  said  Jacobs,  angrily, 
"  that  he  was  doing  a  great  deal  of  business  for 
Tracy  &  Middleton.  I  want  you  to  see  that  I 
get  my  share,  or  I'll  speak  to  Middleton  and  find 
out  what  the  trouble  is." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  said  Sally,  calmly.     "  You  might 


I8tf  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

also  tell  Mr.  Middleton  that  you  offered  me  $5  a 
week  to  give  you  the  bulk  of  our  business." 

One  of  the  most  stringent  laws  of  the  Stock  Ex 
change  treats  of  "  splitting  "  commissions.  Any 
member  who,  in  order  to  increase  his  business, 
charges  an  outsider  or  another  member  less  than 
exactly  the  prescribed  amount  for  buying  or  sell 
ing  stocks,  is  liable  to  severe  penalties.  The  offer 
of  a  two-dollar  broker  to  give  a  telephone-boy 
fifty  cents  for  each  order  of  100  shares  secured 
was  obviously  a  violation  of  the  rule. 

Jacobs  came  down  to  business  at  once.  "  I'll 
make  it  $8,"  he  said,  conciliatingly. 

'/u  Jim  Burr,  who  had  the  position  before  me," 
expostulated  Sally,  indignantly,  "  told  me  he  re 
ceived  $25  a  week  from  Mr.  Grant,  with  an  extra 
$10  thrown  in  from  time  to  time,  when  Mr.  Grant 
made  some  lucky  turn,  to  say  nothing  of  what  the 
other  men  did  for  him."" 

Three  months  before  he  could  not  have  made 
this  speech  had  his  life  depended  on  it.  The  rapid 
development  of  his  character/was  due  exclusively 
to  the  "  forcing  "  power  of  the  atmosphere  which 
surrounded  him.* 

"You  must  be  crazy,"  said  Jacobs,  angrily. 
"  Why,  I  never  get  much  more  than  a  thousand 
shares  a  week  from  Tracy  &  Middleton,  and  usu- 


PIKE'S   PEAK   OR  BUST  .  187 

ally  less.  Say,  you  ought  to  be  on  the  floor.  You 
are  wasting  your  talent  in  the  telephone  business, 
you  are.  Let's  swap  places,  you  and  I." 

"  According  to  our  books,"  said  Sally  to  the 
irate  broker,  having  been  duly  coached  by  Mr. 
William  Simpson,  "  the  last  week  you  did  business 
for  us  you  did  3,800  shares,  and  received  $76." 

"That  was  an  exceptional  week.  Ill  make 
it  $10,"  said  Jacobs. 

"  Twenty-five,"  whispered  Sally,  determinedly. 

"  Let's  split  the  difference,"  murmured  Jacobs, 
wrathfully.  "  I'll  give  you  $15  a  week,  but  you 
must  see  that  I  get  at  least  2,500  shares  a  week." 

"  All  right.  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  you,  Mr. 
Jacobs." 

And  he  did,  for  the  other  brokers  gave  him 
only  twenty-five  cents,  or  at  the  most  fifty  cents 
per  hundred  shares.  In  the  course  of  a  month  or 
two  Sally  was  in  possession  of  an  income  of  $40  a 
week.  And  he  was  only  eighteen. 

II. 

"  Time  passed.  As  it  had  happened  with  his 
predecessor,  so  did  it  happen  now  with  Sally.  He 
began  by  speculating,  wildly  at  first,  more  care 
fully  later  on.  •/  He  met  with  sundry  reverses,  but 
he  also  made  some  very  lucky  turns  indeed,  and 


188  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

he  was  "  ahead  of  the  game  "  by  a  very  fair  amount 
—  certainly  a  sum  far  greater  than  any  plodding 
clerk  could  save  in  five  years,  greater  than  many 
an  industrious  mechanic  saves  in  his  entire  life. 
From  the  bucket-shops  he  went  to  the  Consoli 
dated  Exchange.  Then  he  asked  Jacobs  and  the 
other  two-dollar  brokers  to  let  him  deal  in  a  small 
way  with  them,  which  they  did  out  of  personal 
liking  for  him,  until  he  had  three  separate  ac 
counts  and  could  "swing  a  line"  of  several 
hundred  shares.  He  became  neither  more  nor 
less  than  10,000  other  human  beings  in  Wall 
Street  —  moved  by  the  same  impulses,  actuated 
by  the  same  feelings,  experiencing  the  same 
emotions,  having  the  same  thoughts  and  the 
same  views  of  what  they  are  pleased  to  call 
their  "  business.1'/ 

At  last  the  blow  fell  which  Sally  had  so  long 
dreaded  —  he  was  "  promoted  "  to  a  clerkship  in 
Tracy  &  Middleton's  office.  The  firm  meant  to 
reward  him  for  his  devotion  to  his  work,  for  his 
brightness  and  quickness.  From  $15  a  week  they 
raised  his  salary  to  $25,  which  they  considered 
quite  generous,  especially  in  view  of  his  youth, 
and  that  he  had  started  three  years  before  with 
$8.'  He  was  only  twenty  now.  But  Sally,  know 
ing  it  meant  the  abandonment  of  his  lucrative 


PIKE'S   PEAK   OR   BUST  189 

perquisites  as  telephone  "  boy,"  bemoaned  his  un 
deserved  fate. 

He  took  the  money  he  had  made  to  Mr.  Tracy 
and  told  him  an  interesting  story  of  a  rich  aunt 
and  a  legacy,  and  asked  him  to  let  him  open  an 
account  in  the  office.  Tracy  congratulated  his 
young  clerk,  took  the  $6,500,  and  thereafter  Sally 
was  both  an  employee  and  a  customer  of  Tracy  & 
Middleton. 

Addicted  to  sharp  practices  though  Mr.  Tracy 
was  and  loving  commissions  as  he  did,  he  never 
theless  sought  to  curb  Sally's  youthful  propensity 
for  "  plunging,"  which  was  as  near  being  kind  as 
it  was  possible  for  a  stock-broker  to  be.  But  the 
money  had  "  come  easy.1'  That  is  why  fortunes 
won  by  stock  gamblers  are  lost  with  apparent 
recklessness  or  stupidity.  Sally  speculated  with 
varying  success,  running  up  his  winnings  to  $10,- 
000,  and  seeing  them  dwindle  later  to  $6,000. 
But  in  addition  to  becoming  an  inveterate  specu 
lator,  he  gained  much  valuable  experience.  And 
when  he  had  learned  the  tricks  of  the  trade  he  was 
taken  from  the  ledgers  and  turned  loose  in  the 
customers'  room,  to  take  the  latter's  orders  and 
keep  them  in  good  humor  and  tell  them  the  cur 
rent  stories,  and  give  them  impressively  whispered 
"  tips,"  and  "  put  them  into  "  various  "  deals  "  of 


190  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

the  firm,  and  see  that  they  traded  as  often  as  pos 
sible,  which  meant  commissions  for  the  firm.  He 
became  friendly  and  even  familiar  with  Tracy  £ 
Middleton's  clients,  among  whom  were  some  very 
wealthy  men,  for  a  stock-broker's  office  is  a  demo 
cratic  place.  Men  who  would  not  have  dreamed 
of  taking  their  Wall  Street  acquaintances  to  their 
homes  or  to  their  clubs  for  a  million  reasons, 
all  but  called  each  other  by  their  first  names 
there. 

He  really  was  a  bright,  amiable  fellow,  very 
obliging  —  he  was  paid  for  it  by  the  firm  —  and 
he  made  the  most  of  his  opportunities.  The  cus 
tomers  grew  to  like  him  exceedingly  well,  and  to 
think  with  respect  of  his  judgment,  market- wise. 
One  day  W.  Basil  Thornton,  one  of  the  wealthi 
est  and  boldest  customers  of  the  firm,  complained 
of  the  difficulty  of  "  beating  the  game  "  with  the 
heavy  handicap  of  the  large  brokerage  commis 
sion. 

Jestingly,  yet  hoping  to  be  taken  seriously, 
Sally  said  :  "  Join  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange 
or  buy  me  a  seat,  and  form  the  firm  of  Thornton 
&  Hay  ward.  Just  think,  Colonel,  we  would  have 
your  trade,  and  you  could  bring  some  friends,  and 
I  could  bring  mine,  and  I  think  many  of  these  "  — 
pointing  to  Tracy  &  Middleton's  customers  — 


PIKE'S   PEAK   OR   BUST  191 

"  would  come  over  to  us.  They  all  think  a  lot," 
diplomatically,  "  of  your  opinions  on  the  market." 
Thornton  was  favorably  impressed  with  the 
idea,  and  Sally  saw  it.  From  that  moment  on  he 
worked  hard  to  gain  the  Colonel's  confidence,  "it 
was  he  who  gave  Thornton  the  first  hint  of  Tracy 
Si  Middleton's  condition,  which  led  to  the  with 
drawal  of  Thornton's  account  —  and  his  own  — 
from  the  office.  It  was  a  violation  of  confidence  and 
of  business  ethics,  but  Thornton  was  very  grateful 
when,  two  months  later,  Tracy  &  Middleton  failed, 
under  circumstances  which  were  far  from  credit 
able,  and  which  were  discussed  at  great  length  by 
the  Street.*  He  showed  his  gratitude  by  adding 
a  round  sum  to  Sally's  $11,500,  and  Willis  N. 
Hayward  became  a  member  of  the  New  York 
Stock  Exchange/  Shortly  afterward  the  firm  of 
Thornton  &  Hayward,  Bankers  and  Brokers,  was 
formed.  Sally,  then  in  his  twenty-fifth  year,  had 
become  a  seasoned  Wall  Street 


III. 

From  the  start  the  new  firm  did  well.  Colonel 
Thornton  and  two  or  three  friends  who  followed 
him  from  Tracy  &  Middleton's  office,  all  of  them 
"  plungers,"  were  almost  enough  to  keep  Hayward 
busy  on  the  Exchange  executing  orders,  and, 


192  WALL  STREET  STORIES 

moreover,  new  customers  were  coming  in.  Had 
he  been  satisfied  with  this  start,  and  with  letting 
time  do  the  rest,  he  would  have  fared  very  well. 
But  he  began  to  speculate  for  himself,  and  all 
reputable  commission  men  will  tell  you,  with  vary 
ing  degrees  of  emphasis,  that  this  not  only  "  ties 
up"  the  firm's  money,  but  that  no  man  can 
"  trade  "  —  speculate  —  on  his  own  hook  and  at 
the  same  time  do  justice  to  his  customers. 

Thornton  was  a  rich  man,  and  protected  his 
own  speculations  more  than  amply.  He  noticed 
the  development  of  his  young  partner's  gambling 
proclivities,  and  remonstrated  with  him  —  in  a 
kindly,  paternal  sort  of  way. 

Sally  vowed  he  would  stop. 

Within  less  than  three  months  he  had  broken 
his  promise  twice,  and  his  unsuccessful  operations 
in  Alabama  Coal  at  one  time  threatened  seriously 
to  embarrass  the  firm. 

Colonel  Thornton  came  to  the  rescue. 

Sally  promised,  with  a  solemnity  born  of  sincere 
fear,  never  to  do  it  again. 

But  fright  lasts  but  a  little  space,  and  memory 
is  equally  short-lived.  Wall  Street  has  no  room 
for  men  with  an  excess  of  timidity  or  of  recollec 
tion.  He  had  gambled  before  he  joined  the  New 
York  Stock  Exchange.  After  all,  if  speculating 


PIKE'S   PEAK   OR   BUST  193 

were  a  crime  and  convictions  could  be  secured  in 
fifty  out  of  a  hundred  flagrant  instances,  one  half 
the  male  population  of  the  United  States  would 
perforce  consist  of  penitentiary  guards  forever  en 
gaged  in  watching  over  the  convicted  other  half, 
Sally  told  a  customer  one  day. 

And  then,  too,  Willis  N.  Hay  ward,  the  Board 
member  of  Thornton  &  Hayward,  was  a  very  dif 
ferent  person  from  Sally,  the  nice  little  telephone- 
boy  of  Tracy  &  Middleton's.  His  cheeks  were 
not  pink  ;  they  were  mottled.  His  eyes  were  not 
clear  and  ingenuous ;  they  wer^  shifty  and  a  bit 
watery.  He  had  been  in  Wall  Street  eight  or 
ten  years,  and  he  overworked  his  nerves  every  day 
from  10  A.M.  to  3  P.M.  on  the  Stock  Exchange ; 
also  from  5  P.M.  to  midnight  at  the  cafe  of  a  big 
up-town  hotel,  where  Wall  Street  men  gathered 
to  talk  shop.  His  system  craved  stimulants ; 
gambling  and  liquor  were  the  strongest  he  knew. 

When,  after  three  years,  the  firm  expired  by 
limitation,  Colonel  Thornton  withdrew.  He  had 
had  enough  of  Hay  ward's  plunging.  To  be  sure, 
Sally  had  become  a  shrewd  "  trader,"  and  he  had 
made  $75,000  during  the  big  bull  boom  ;  but  he 
was  at  heart  a  "  trader,"  which  is  to  say,  a  mere 
gambler  in  stocks,  and  not  a  desirable  commission 
man. 


J94-  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

But  Sally,  flushed  with  success  on  the  bull  side, . 
did  not  worry  when  Thornton  refused  to  con 
tinue  the  partnership.  The  slogan  was  "Buy  A. 
O.  T.  It's  sure  to  go  up!"  the  initial  standing 
for  Any  Old  Thing!  The  most  prosperous  period 
in  the  industrial  and  commercial  history  of  the 
United  States  begot  an  epidemic  of  speculative 
madness  such  as  was  never  before  known,  and 
probably  never  again  will  be.  Everybody  had 
money  in  abundance,  and  the  desire  for  specula 
tion  in  superabundance.  Sally  formed  a  new 
firm  immediately  —  Hay  ward  &  Co.  —  with  his 
cashier  as  partner. 

IV. 

All  mundane  things  have  an  end,  even  bull 
markets  and  bear  markets.  The  bull  market  saw 
Hayward  &  Co.  doing  a  good  business,  as  did 
everybody  else  in  Wall  Street.  It  ended,  and  the 
firm's  customers,  after  a  few  bad  "slumps'"  in 
prices,  were  admonished  to  turn  bears  in  order  to 
recoup  their  losses.  Bears  believe  prices  are  too 
high  and  should  go  lower;  bulls,  optimists,  be 
lieve  the  opposite.  The  public  can't  sell  stocks 
"short"  any  more  than  the  average  man  is  left- 
handed.  These  customers  were  no  exception,  so 
they  did  nothing. 


PIKE'S    PEAK   OR   BUST  195 

•  Hay  ward  had  "overstayed"  the  bull  market, 
though  not  disastrously;  that  is,  he  was  in  error 
regarding  the  extent  and  duration  of  the  upward 
movement  of  prices.  He  proceeded  to  fall  into  a 
similar  error  on  the  bear,  or  downward,  side.  The 
market  had  been  extremely  dull  following  what 
the  financial  writers  called  a  "severe  decline,"  but 
which  meant  the  loss  of  millions  of  dollars  by 
speculators.  A  panic  had  been  narrowly  averted 
by  a  timely  combination  of  "  powerful  interests," 
after  which  the  market  became  professional.  In 
the  absence  of  complaisant  lambs,  the  financial 
cannibals  known  as  "room  traders'"  and  "pikers" 
tried  to  "scalp  eighths"  out  of  each  other  for 
weeks  —  to  take  advantage  of  fractional  fluctua 
tions  instead  of  waiting  for  big  movements.  Hay- 
ward's  customers,  like  everybody  else's  customers, 
were  not  speculating.  So  he  used  their  money  to 
protect  his  own  speculations.  Office  expenses 
were  numerous  and  heavy,  and  commissions  few 
and  light. 

Hayward  was  very  bearish.  He  had  sold  stocks, 
sharing  the  belief  of  the  maj  ority  of  his  fellows, 
that  the  lowest  prices  had  not  been  reached.  As 
a  result  he  was  heavily  "short,"  and  he  could  not 
"cover"  at  a  profit,  because  prices  had  advanced 
very  slowly,  but  very  steadily. 


196  WALL  STREET   STORIES 

One  day  a  big  gambler  in  Chicago,  bolder  or 
keener  than  his  Eastern  brethren,  thought  the 
time  was  ripe  for  a  "bull"  or  upward  movement 
in  general,  and  particularly  in  Consolidated  Steel 
Rod  Company's  stock.  He  was  the  chairman  of 
the  board  of  directors.  Mr.  William  G.  Don- 
decided  upon  a  plan  whereby  the  stock  would  be 
made  attractive  to  that  class  of  speculative  in 
vestors,  so  to  speak,  who  liked  to  buy  stocks 
making  generous  disbursements  of  profits  to  their 
holders.  Mr.  Dorr's  plan  was  kept  a  secret.  The 
first  step  consisted  of  sending  in  large  buying 
orders,  handled  by  prominent  brokers,  and  syn 
chronously  the  publication,  in  the  daily  press,  of 
various  items,  all  reciting  the  wonderful  prosperity 
of  the  Consolidated  Steel  Rod  Company  and  its 
phenomenal  earnings;  also  the  unutterable  cheap 
ness  of  the  stock  at  the  prevailing  price.  Mr. 
Dorr  and  associates,  of  course,  had  previously 
taken  advantage  of  the  big  "slump"  or  fall  in 
values  to  buy  back  at  35  the  same  stock  they  had 
sold  to  the  public  some  weeks  before  at  70. 
Having  acquired  this  cheap  stock,  they  "ma 
nipulated"  —  by  means  of  further  purchase  —  the 
price  so  that  they  could  sell  out  at  a  profit. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  once  before 
dividend  rumors  about  "Con.  Steel  Rod"  had 


PIKE'S   PEAK  OR  BUST  197 

been  disseminated,  with  the  connivance  of  Dorr, 
and  they  had  not  come  true,  to  the  great  detri 
ment  of  credulous  buyers  and  the  greater  profit  of 
the  insiders,  who  were  "short"  of  the  stock  "up 
to  their  necks"  —  a  typical  bit  of  stock-jobbing 
whereat  other  and  more  artistic  stock-jobbers  had 
expressed  the  greatest  indignation.  Instead  of 
putting  the  stock  on  a  dividend-paying  basis,  the 
directors  had  decided  —  at  the  last  hour  —  that  it 
would  not  be  conservative  to  do  so,  whereupon 
the  stock  had  "broken"  seventeen  points.  The 
lambs  lost  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars;  the 
insiders  gained  as  much.  It  was  a  "nice  turn." 
Hayward  remembered  this,  and  when  the  stock, 
after  several  days  of  conspicuous  activity  and 
steady  advances,  rose  to  52,  he  promptly  sold 
"short"  5,000  shares  —  believing  that  the  bare 
faced  manipulation  would  not  raise  the  stock  much 
above  that  figure,  and  that  before  long  it  must 
decline.  Only  a  month  previously  it  had  sold  at 
35  and  nobody  wanted  any  of  it.  He  was  all  the 
more  decided  in  his  opinion  that  the  "top"  had 
been  reached  by  prices,  because  Mr.  Dorr,  in  a 
Chicago  paper,  had  stated  that  the  stockholders 
would  probably  receive  an  entire  year's  dividend  at 
one  fell  swoop  by  reason  of  the  unexampled  pros 
perity  in  the  steel  rod  trade.  Such  an  action  was 


198  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

unprecedented.  It  had  been  talked  about  at  vari 
ous  times  in  connection  with  other  stocks,  but  it 
had  never  come  true.  Why  should  it  come  true 
in  this  instance? 

Hayward,  familiar  with  DOIT'S  record,  promptly 
"coppered"  his  "tip"  to  buy,  banking  on  DOIT'S 
consistent  mendacity.  But  Mr.  William  G.  Dorr, 
shrewdest  and  boldest  of  all  Western  stock  gam 
blers,  fooled  everybody  —  he  actually  told  the 
truth.  That  week  the  directors  did  exactly  as  he 
had  predicted.  When  a  speculator  of  his  calibre 
lies  he  fools  only  one  half — the  foolish  half — of 
the  Street.  When  he  tells  the  truth  he  deceives 
everybody.  Before  Wall  Street  could  recover 
from  the  shock  the  price  of  the  stock  was  up  5 
points,  which  meant  that  Hayward  was  out 
$25,000  on  that  deal  alone.  But,  in  addition, 
the  general  list  was  carried  upward  sympathetic 
ally.  The  semi-paralyzed  bulls  regained  confi 
dence  as  they  saw  the  successful  outcome  of  the 
Chicago  gambler's  manoeuvres  in  Consolidated 
Steel  Rod.  Money  rates  and  bear  hopes  fell; 
stock  values  and  bull  courage  rose!  Hayward 
began  "covering"  Steel  Rod.  He  "bought  in" 
5,000  shares,  and  after  he  finished  he  had  lost 
$26,750  by  the  deal.  He  was  still  "short"  about 
12,000  shares  of  other  stocks,  on  which  his 


PIKE'S   PEAK   OR  BUST  199 

"paper"  losses,  at  the  last  quoted  prices,  were  over 
$35,000;  but  if  he  tried  to  buy  back  such  a  large 
amount  of  stock  in  a  market  so  sensitive  to  any 
kind  of  bull  impetus,  he  would  send  prices  upward 
in  a  jiffy,  increasing  his  own  losses  very  materially. 

He  went  to  his  office  that  morning  in  a  tremor. 
He  consulted  the  cashier,  and  found  he  had  only 
$52,000  at  the  bank,  of  which  two  thirds  be 
longed  to  his  customers.  He  was  already,  morally 
speaking,  an  embezzler.  He  was  ruined  if  he 
didn't  cover,  and  he  was  ruined  if  he  did.  His 
"seat"  on  the  Stock  Exchange  was  worth  possibly 
$40,000,  not  a  cent  more;  and  as  he  personally 
owed  his  out-of-town  correspondents  nearly  $38,- 
000,  he  could  not  avoid  being  hopelessly  ruined. 
Moreover,  his  bankruptcy  would  not  be  an 
"honest"  failure,  for,  as  he  told  himself  bitterly, 
after  the  harm  was  done,  "I  had  no  business  to 
speculate  on  my  own  hook  with  other  people's 
money." 

He  had  felt  it  rather  than  had  seen  it  coming, 
for,  gambler-like,  he  had  closed  his  eyes  and  had 
buried  his  head  in  the  sand  of  hope,  trusting  in 
luck  to  protect  him  from  punishment.  But  now 
he  was  face  to  face  with  the  question  that  every 
gambler  dreads:  "If  I  stood  to  lose  all,  how 
desperate  a  risk  would  I  take  in  order  to  get  it 


200  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

back?"  The  answer  is  usually  so  appallingly 
thief-like  that  the  numerous  Haywards  of  the 
Stock  Exchange  and  the  Board  of  Trade  forth 
with  stop  thinking  with  a  suddenness  that  does 
credit  to  the  remnants  of  their  honesty.  But  it 
haunts  them,  does  the  ominous  question  and  the 
commenced  but  unfinished  answer. 

As  he  left  his  office  to  go  to  the  "Board 
Room'1  he  put  to  himself  the  fateful  query.  But 
he  would  not  let  himself  answer  it  until  he  had 
stopped  at  "Fred's,"  the  official  barroom  of  the 
Stock  Exchange,  and  had  taken  a  stiff  drink  of 
raw  whiskey.  Then  the  answer  came. 

He  was  ruined  anyhow.  If  he  failed  without 
further  ado,  that  is,  without  increasing  his  liabili 
ties,  he  would  be  cursed  by  twenty-five  of  his 
customers  and  by  fifteen  of  his  fellow-brokers  who 
were  "lending"  stocks  to  him.  But  if  he  made 
one  last  desperate  effort,  he  might  pull  out  of  the 
hole;  or,  at  the  worst,  why,  the  number  of  curs 
ing  customers  would  remain  the  same,  but  the 
fellow-brokers  would  rise  to  twenty  or  thirty. 

He  took  another  stiff  drink.  The  market  had 
become  undoubtedly  a  bull  market.  The  bears 
had  been  fighting  the  advance,  and  there  still  re 
mained  a  stubborn  short  interest  in  certain  stocks, 
as,  for  example,  in  American  Sugar  Company 


PIKE'S    PEAK   OR   BUST  201 

stock.  Now  if  that  short  interest  could  be 
stampeded  it  might  mean  an  eight  or  ten-point 
advance.  If  he  bought  10,000  or  15,000  shares 
and  sold  them  at  an  average  profit  of  four  or  five 
points,  he  would  put  off  the  disaster,  and  if  he 
made  ten  points  he  would  be  a  great  operator. 
He  had,  to  be  sure,  no  business  to  buy  even  1,000 
shares  of  Sugar;  but  then  he  had  no  business  to 
be  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy. 

The  liquor  was  potent.  Sally  said  to  himself, 
aggrievedly :  "I  might  as  well  be  hung  for  a  flock 
as  for  one  measly  old  mutton." 

He  walked  a  trifle  unsteadily  from  "Fred's" 
across  the  narrow  asphalted  New  Street  to  the 
Stock  Exchange.  He  paused  at  the  entrance. 
There  was  no  escape.  Unless  he  could  make  a 
lucky  strike,  he  would  fail  ignominiously. 

"  Pike's  Peak  or  bust ! "  he  muttered  to  him- 
self,  and  walked  into  the  big  room. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Hayward,"  said  the  door 
keeper.  Hayward  nodded  absently,  caught  him 
self  repeating,  "  Pike's  Peak  or  bust ! "  and  walked 
straight  toward  the  Sugar  post. 

He  began  to  bid  for  stock.  One  thousand 
shares  at  116  ;  he  got  it.  Another  thousand;  it 
was  forthcoming  at  116J.  A  third  thousand; 
somebody  was  glad  to  sell  it  at  116 J.  So  far,  so 


202  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

bad.  Then  he  bid  117  for  2,500  shares,  and  it 
was  promptly  sold.  But  when  he  bid  "117  for 
any  part  of  5,000 ! "  the  crowd  hesitated ;  the 
brokers  were  not  altogether  sure  Hayward  was 
"  good  for  it " ;  his  ability  to  pay  for  the  stock 
was  not  undoubted.  So  Sally,  taking  advantage 
of  the  hesitation,  bid  117J  and  117£  for  5,000 
Sugar,  at  which  price  "  Billy  "  Thatcher,  a  two- 
dollar  broker,  sold  it  to  him.  It  made  10,500 
shares  Hayward  had  bought,  and  the  stock  had 
risen  only  1 J  points.  The  shorts  were  not  fright 
ened  a  wee  bit.  But  Sally  was.  He  rushed  out 
of  the  crowd  to  his  telephone  and  made  a  pretence 
of  "  reporting "  the  transactions  to  his  office,  as 
he  would  have  done  had  they  been  bona  Jide  pur 
chases.  He  was  followed  by  a  hundred  sharply  cu 
rious  —  and  curiously  sharp  —  eyes.  They  saw  him 
hold  the  telephone  receiver  to  his  ear  with  an  ex 
pression  of  great  interest,  as  if  he  were  listening 
to  an  important  message.  But  the  only  message 
he  heard  was  that  of  his  heart-beats,  that  seemed 
to  say,  almost  articulately :  "  You  have  played 
and  you  have  lost ;  you  have  played  and  you  have 
lost.  Therefore,  you  are  that  much  worse  off  than 
before.  You  must  play  again  —  and  not  lose ! " 

He  left  his  telephone  and  rushed  back  to  the 
Sugar   crowd.     He  was  less  excited,  less  like  a 


PIKE'S   PEAK   OR   BUST  203 

drunken  man ;  his  face  was  no  longer  flushed,  but 
pale.  And  anon  there  flashed  upon  him,  as  if  in 
candent  letters,  the  words  Pike's  Peak  or  bust ! 
But  Pikers  Peak  glowed  dully,  feebly,  while  the 
alternative  was  of  a  lurid  splendor.  And  he 
blinked  his  eyes  and  made  a  curious  impatient 
motion  with  his  hand,  as  one  waves  away  an  an 
noying  insect. 

He  gave  an  order  for  5,000  Sugar  to  his  friend, 
Newton  Hartley. 

"  Is  this  for  yourself,  Sally  ?"  asked  Hartley. 

"  No.  It's  for  one  of  the  biggest  men  in  the 
Street,  Newt.  It's  all  right.  Absolutely  O.  K." 

And  thus  reassured,  Hartley  bought  the  stock. 
The  price  was  118.  The  seller  would  hold  Hart 
ley  responsible  for  the  purchase  money  if  Hay- 
ward  "  laid  down  "  —  refused  to  pay. 

Sally  wiped  his  forehead  twice,  quite  unneces 
sarily.  The  shorts  were  not  stampeding.  Any 
attempt  to  sell  out  the  15,000  shares  he  had 
bought  would  result  only  in  depressing  the  price, 
five  points  at  least.  It  was  worse  than  bad,  the 
outlook  for  him. 

He  gave  another  order  to  buy  5,000  shares  to 
"  Billy "  Lansing,  an  old  and  reliable  two-dollar 
broker,  but  Lansing  declined  it.  He  tried  anoth 
er,  but  the  order  was  not  accepted.  They  mis- 


204  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

trusted  him ;  but  he  could  not  even  bluster,  for 
they  excused  themselves  on  the  ground  of  having 
important  orders  elsewhere.  So  he  had  recourse 
to  another  personal  friend  —  J.  G.  Thompson. 

"Joe,  buy  5,000  Sugar." 

"  Are  you  sober  ?  "  said  Thompson,  seriously. 

"  See  for  yourself,"  answered  Sally,  laughingly. 
He  had  nerve.  "  Old  man,  I've  got  a  very  big 
order  from  one  of  the  biggest  men  in  the  Street. 
Some  important  developments  are  going  on." 

"  Sally,  are  you  sure  you've  got  an  order  from 
some  one  else  ? "  asked  the  unconvinced  broker. 
His  incredulity  was  obviously  in  the  nature  of  an 
insult,  but  it  was  pardonable,  for  there  was  too 
much  at  stake. 

"  Joe,  come  over  to  the  office  and  I'll  show  you  — 
Really,  I  can't  tell  you.  But  I  can  advise  you,  as 
a  friend,  to  buy  Sugar  for  all  you  are  worth." 
And  as  he  uttered  the  lie  he  looked  straight  into 
Thompson's  eyes. 

"  Hay  ward,  are  you  sure  ?  Are  you  sure  you're 
not  making  a  mistake  ?  "  He  wanted  the  com 
mission  of  $100,  but  he  did  not  feel  certain  of  his 
friend. 

"  Oh,  hell,  no.  I've  got  a  lot  more  to  buy. 
It's  all  right.  Go  ahead,  Joe." 

,And  Joe  went  ahead.     He  bought  the  5,000 


PIKE'S    PEAK   OR   BUST  205 

shares.  The  stock  rose  to  119£,  and  Hay  ward, 
warned  by  his  experience  with  Hartley  and  Thomp 
son,  did  not  ask  either  friend  or  foe  to  buy  another 
5,000  shares  for  him.  What  he  did  was  to  dis 
tribute  buying  orders  for  10,000  shares  in  lots  of 
500.  Brokers  now  accepted  his  orders,  for  they 
were  not  so  large  as  to  be  dangerous.  And  the 
stock  rose  to  122f .  A  few  shorts  were  frightened. 
He  might  win  out  after  all ;  he  might  make  Pike's 
Peak.  He  began  to  bid  up  the  stock.  He  even 
bought  "  cash  "  stock,  that  is,  stock  for  which  he 
paid  cash,  had  to  pay  cash  outright,  receiving  the 
certificates  forthwith,  presumably  to  hand  over  to 
some  investor  of  millions.  Everybody  on  the 
"  floor  "  was  talking  about  Hay  ward.  The  entire 
market  had  risen  in  sympathy  with  Sugar. 

But  at  124  it  seemed  as  if  the  entire  capital 
stock  was  for  sale.  He  ceased  buying.  He  had 
accumulated  38,000  shares.  To  pay  for  the 
stock  necessitated  about  six  and  one-half  mil 
lions  !  But  if  he  could  unload  on  an  average 
of  only  122  he  might  "come  out  even"  in  his 
other  troubles. 

He  gave  an  order  to  sell  10,000  shares  to  a 
broker  to  whom  he  had  always  been  a  good  friend. 
It  was  a  fatal  mistake.  The  broker,  Louis  W. 
Wechsler,  had  previously  sold  1,000  shares  to 


206  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

Hay  ward  for  "  cash"  at  122.  He  suspected  what 
was  coming,  and  declining  the  order,  he  himself 
went  to  Hayward's  office  and  asked  for  a  check. 
The  cashier  sought  to  put  him  off  with  excuses, 
and  Wechsler  now  being  certain  of  the  true  state 
of  affairs,  returned  to  the  Board  and  began  to  sell 
Sugar  short  for  his  own  account.  If  a  crash  came 
he  would  make  instead  of  losing  it.  Hayward 
was  sure  to  be  ruined,  and  Wechsler  told  himself 
sophistically  that  he  was  only  profiting  by  the  in 
evitable.  In  the  meantime  Sally  had  sold  the 
10,000  shares  through  another  broker,  and  the 
price  had  declined  to  121f.  But  Wechsler's 
5,000  shares  put  it  down  to  120J.  And  some 
body  else  sold  more,  and  the  shorts  recovered  from 
their  fright,  and  the  fatal  hour  was  approaching 
when  Hayward  would  have  to  settle.  Pike's  Peak 
or  bust !  He  did,  indeed,  need  a  veritable  Pike's 
Peak  of  dollars  to  pay  for  the  28,000  Sugar  he 
had  on  hand.  So  he  busted. 

He  threw  up  his  hands.  He  acknowledged  de 
feat  to  himself.  The  tension  was  over.  He  was 
no  longer  excited,  but  cool,  almost  cynical.  On 
one  of  the  little  slips  of  paper  on  which  brokers 
jot  down  memoranda  of  their  transactions  he  scrib 
bled  a  message  in  lead  pencil.  It  was  his  last 
official  lie,  and  would  cost  Hartley  and  Thompson 


PIKE'S    PEAK   OR   BUST  207 

and  other  friends,  as  well  as  his  customers,  many 
thousands  of  dollars.  It  was  as  follows  : 

"  Owing  to  the  refusal  of  their  bank  to  extend 
the  usual  facilities  to  them,  Hayward  &  Co.  are 
compelled  to  announce  their  suspension." 

"  Boy  ! "  he  yelled.  And  he  gave  the  bit  of 
paper  to  one  of  the  Exchange  messenger  boys  in 
gray.  "  Take  this  to  the  Chairman." 

'And  he  walked  slowly,  almost  swaggeringly,  out 
of  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange  —  for  the  last 
time  —  as  the  Chairman  pounded  with  his  gavel 
until  the  usual  crowd  gathered  about  the  rostrum, 
and  listened  to  the  announcement  of  the  failure  of 
"  Sally  "  Hayward,  who  began  as  a  nice  little  tele 
phone-boy  and  ended  as  a  stock -gambler.  t 


A  THEOLOGICAL  TIPSTER 


A  THEOLOGICAL  TIPSTER 

AT  first  Wall  Street  thought  that  Silas  Shaw's 
"  religiousness  "  was  an  affectation.  What  pur 
pose  the  Old  Man  desired  to  serve  by  the  calcu 
lated  notoriety  of  his  church  affiliations  no  one 
could  tell.  It  is  true  that  many  ingenious  theo 
ries  were  advanced,  some  going  so  far  as  to  hint 
at  repentance.  But  deep  in  the  hearts  of  his  fel 
low-brokers,  and  of  his  friends  and  his  victims  alike, 
was  the  belief  that  old  Shaw,  in  some  not  gener-. 
ally  known  way,  made  practical  use  of  his  osten 
tatious  enthusiasm  for  things  churchly  as  politi 
cians  resort  to  more  or  less  obvious  devices  to 
"capture  the  German  vote"  or  to  "please  the 
Irish  element.1' 

One  day,  after  a  series  of  skirmishes  and  a  final 
pitched  battle  in  "  South  Shore  "  between  the  Old 
Man  and  the  bears,  when  the  pelts  of  the  latter, 
after  the  capitulation,  added  nearly  a  half  million 
to  the  old  fellow's  bank  account,  certain  luminaries 
of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church  were  called  into 
consultation.  Silas  Shaw  had  long  thought  about 
it ;  and  now  there  was  much  conferring  and  more 
or  less  arid  and  misplaced  sermonizing  by  the  the- 
211 


212  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

ologians  and  much  soothing  talk  by  the  Old  Man^s 
lawyers ;  and  more  Methodist  clergymen  and  more 
lawyers  and  more  talk ;  and  then  a  real  estate 
agent  and  an  architect  and  a  leading  banker  and, 
at  last,  just  one  check  from  the  Old  Man. 

The  next  day  the  newspapers  announced  that 
the  Shaw  Theological  Seminary  had  been  founded 
and  endowed  by  Mr.  Silas  Shaw.  But  even  after 
the  Old  Man  had  devoted  his  ursine  spoils  to  this 
praiseworthy  object,  Wall  Street  continued  skep 
tical. 

And,  yet,  Wall  Street  made  a  mistake  —  as  it 
often  does  in  its  judgment  of  its  leaders.  Silas 
Shaw  really  had  a  soft  spot  in  his  tape- wound  and 
ticker-dented  old  heart  for  all  things  ecclesiastical. 
Next  to  being  a  power  in  the  Street  he  loved  to 
be  regarded  as  one  of  the  pillars  of  his  church. 
He  heard  with  pleasure,  of  week  days,  the  wakeful 
staccato  sound  of  the  ticker ;  but  on  Sundays  he 
certainly  enjoyed  the  soothing  cadences  of  familiar 
hymns.  And  if  more  than  one  hardened  broker 
expressed  picturesque  but  unreproducible  opinions 
of  the  old  man,  so  also  more  than  one  enthusiastic 
young  minister  could  tell  pleasant  stories  of  how 
the  old  stock  gambler  received  him  and  responded 
to  the  fervent  appeal  for  the  funds  wherewith 
many  a  little  backwoods  church  was  built. 


A   THEOLOGICAL   TIPSTER  213 

Shawls  generosity  was  so  notorious  among  the 
church  people  that  the  Reverend  Doctor  Ramsdell, 
pastor  of  the  S teen  th  Street  Methodist  Episcopal 
Church  and  a  trustee  of  the  Shaw  Theological 
Seminary,  felt  no  embarrassment  in  applying  to 
him  for  assistance.  It  was  not  Shawls  church, 
but  in  Dr.  RamsdelPs  charge  there  were  one  or 
two  bankers  well  known  in  Wall  Street  and  sev 
eral  members  of  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange. 
It  seemed  particularly  fitting  to  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Ramsdell  that  the  name  of  Silas  Shaw,  followed 
by  a  few  figures,  should  head  a  subscription  list. 
It  was  desired  to  erect  a  Protestant  Chapel  in 
Oruro,  Bolivia  —  the  most  uncivilized  of  all  the 
South  American  "republics." 

"Good-morning,  Brother  Shaw;  I  trust  you 
are  well." 

"Tolerable,  tolerable,  thank'ee  kindly,"  re 
plied  the  sturdy  old  gambler.  "  What  brings  you 
down  to  this  sinful  section  ?  Doing  some  mis 
sionary  work,  eh  ?  I  wish  you'd  begin  among 
those  da  —  er  —  dandy  young  bears." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  the  Rev.  Dr.  Ramsdell,  eagerly. 
"  It  is  precisely  a  propos  of  missionary  work."  And 
he  told  Silas  Shaw  all  about  the  plan  for  carrying 
the  light  into  Bolivia  by  building  the  only  Prot 
estant  chapel  in  Oruro,  where  it  was  incredibly 


214  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

tenebrous  —  worse  than  darkest  Africa.  The  rev 
erend  doctor  hoped,  nay,  he  knew,  in  view  of 
Brother  Shaw's  well-known  devotion  to  the  glori 
ous  work  of  redeeming  their  benighted  Bolivian 
brethren,  that  he  could  count  upon  him,  etc. ;  and 
the  subscription  list 

"My  dear  Dr.  Ramsdell,"  interrupted  Shaw, 
"I  never  sign  subscription  lists.  When  I  give,  I 
give ;  and  I  don't  want  everybody  to  know  how 
much  I've  given." 

"  Well,  Brother  Shaw,  you  need  not  sign  your 
name.  I'll  put  you  down  as  X.  Y.  Z.,"  he  smiled 
encouragingly. 

"  No,  no  ;  don't  put  me  down  at  all." 

The  good  doctor  looked  so  surprised  and  so  woe 
begone  that  Shaw  laughed. 

"  Cheer  up.  Doctor.  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do  ; 
I'll  buy  some  Erie  for  you.  Yes,  sirree ;  that's 
the  best  thing  I  can  do.  What  do  you  say  to 
that  ?  "  And  he  looked  at  the  doctor,  triumph 
antly. 

"  Ahem  !  —  I  am  not  —  are  you  sure  it  will 
prove  a  —  ahem !  —  a  desirable  investment  ?  You 
see,  I  do  not  —  ah  —  know  much  about  Wall 
Street." 

"  Neither  do  I.  And  the  older  I  grow  the  less 
I  know." 


A  THEOLOGICAL   TIPSTER          215 

The  reverend  doctor  ventured  a  tentative  smile 
of  semi-incredulity. 

"  That's  right,  Doctor.  But  well  make  some 
thing  for  you.  The  blooming,  I  mean,  benighted 
Bohemians " 

"  Ahem  !  —  Bolivians,  Brother  Shaw."" 

"  I  meant  Bolivians.  They  must  have  a  chance 
for  their  souls.  John,"  to  a  clerk ;  "  buy  500 
shares  of  Erie  at  the  market." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  John,  disappearing  into  the 
telephone  booth.  To  buy,  "at  the  market" 
meant  to  buy  at  the  prevailing  or  market  price. 

"  Brother  Shaw,  I  am  extremely  grateful  to  you. 
This  matter  is  very  close  to  my  heart,  I  assure 
you.  And  —  ah  —  will  —  when  will  I  know  if  the 
—  ah  —  investment  turns  out  profitably  ?  " 

"  Oh,  have  no  fears  on  that  score.  We  shall 
make  the  stock  market  contribute  to  your  mis 
sionary  fund.  All  you'll  have  to  do  is  to  look  on 
the  financial  page  of  your  paper  every  evening  and 
keep  posted." 

"  I  fear,  Brother  Shaw,"  said  Dr.  Ramsdell,  dep- 
recatingly,  "  that  I  shall  have  no  little  trouble 
in  —  ah  —  keeping  posted." 

"  Not  at  all.  See,  here,"  and  he  took  up  his  pa 
per  and  turned  to  the  stock  tables.  "  Draw  up 
your  chair,  Doctor.  You  see,  here  is  Erie.  Yes- 


216  WALL  STREET   STORIES 

terday,  on  transactions  of  18,280  shares,  Erie  Rail 
road  stock  sold  as  high  as  64f  and  as  low  as  63J, 
the  last  or  closing  sale  being  at  64J.  The  num 
bers  mean  dollars  per  share.  It  was  very  strong. 
Haven't  you  got  a  report  on  that  500  Erie  yet, 
John?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  John.  "Sixty-five  and  one- 
eighth." 

"  You  see,  Doctor,  the  stock  is  still  going  up. 
Well,  every  day  when  you  look  on  the  table  you 
will  see  at  what  price  Erie  stock  is  selling.  If  it 
is  more  than  65  J,  why,  that  will  show  you  are 
making  money.  Every  point  up,  that  is,  every 
unit,  will  mean  that  your  missionary  fund  is  $500 
richer." 

"And  —  Brother  Shaw  —  ahem  !  —  if  it  should 
be  — ah  — less?" 

"  What's  the  use  of  thinking  such  things,  Dr. 
Ramsdell  ?  All  you  have  to  remember  is  that  I  am 
going  to  make  some  money  for  you ;  and  that  I 
paid  65  J  for  the  stock  I  bought." 

"  You  really  think " 

"  Have  no  fears,  Doctor.  You  understand,  of 
course,  that  it  is  well  not  to  give  such  matters 
undue  publicity." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  assented  the  doctor. 
« I  understand."  But  he  did  not. 


A   THEOLOGICAL   TIPSTER  217 

"  Nothing  more,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  thank  you  very  much,  Brother  Shaw. 
I  —  er  —  most  sincerely  hope  my  —  ah  —  your  — 
I  should  say  —  ah  —  our  investment,  may  result 
in  —  ah  —  favorably  for  our  Bolivian  Missionary 
Fund.  Thanks  very  much." 

"Don't  mention  it,  Doctor.  And  don't  you 
worry.  We  will  come  out  O.K.  You'll  hear 
from  me  in  a  week  or  two.  Good-morning." 

The  reverend  doctor  went  across  the  Street  to 
the  office  of  one  of  his  parishioners,  Walter  H. 
Cranston,  a  stock  broker. 

Mr.  Cranston  was  bemoaning  the  appalling  lack 
of  business  and  making  up  his  mind  about  certain 
Delphic  advice  he  contemplated  giving  his  timid 
customers,  in  order  to  make  them  "  trade,"  which 
would  mean  commissions,  when  Dr.  Ramsdell's 
card  was  brought. 

"Confound  him,  what  does  he  want  to  come 
around,  bothering  a  man  at  his  business  for  ?  "  he 
thought.  But  he  said  :  "  Show  him  in,  William." 

"  Good-morning,  Brother  Cranston." 

"  Why,  good-morning,  Dr.  Ramsdell.  To  what 
do  I  owe  this  unexpected  pleasure  ?  " 

"  Fve  called  to  see  you  about  our  Missionary 
Fund.  You  know  I  take  a  great  deal  of  interest 
in  it.  We  desire  to  build  a  chapel  in  Bolivia, 


218  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

where  the  light  is  needed,  Brother  Cranston,  as 
much  as  in  China,  I  assure  you.  And  it  is  so 
much  nearer  home." 

"  Doctor,  I  really  —  "  began  Cranston,  with  an 
injured  air. 

"  I  want  your  valuable  autograph  to  head  the 
subscription  list,"  said  the  clergyman  with  an  air 
he  endeavored  to  make  arch  and  playful.  "  Don't 
refuse  me." 

"  Why  don't  you  try  some  well-known  person  ?  " 
said  Cranston,  modestly. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Brother  Cranston,  I  did 
try  Silas  Shaw."  And  he  added,  hastily,  "  Not 
but  that  you  are  sufficiently  well-known  for  my 
purpose." 

"  What  did  the  old  ras  —  the  Old  Man  say  ?  " 

"  He  said  he  never  signed  subscription  lists." 

"  Didn't  he  give  you  anything  at  all  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  he  —  er  —  he  did  something  for 
me."  The  doctor's  face  assumed  a  portentous  air. 

Cranston's  eyes  brightened.  "  What  was  that  ?" 
he  said. 

"  Well,"  said  the  clergyman,  hesitatingly,  "  he 
said  we  would  come  out  O.  K.  Those  are  his  own 
words,  Brother  Cranston." 

"  Yes  ?  "  Cranston's  face  did  not  look  promis 
ing  for  Bolivian  enlightenment. 


A   THEOLOGICAL   TIPSTER  219 

"  Yes.  He  — er  —  told  me  he  would  make  the 
stock  market  contribute  to  the  fund." 

"  Indeed  ! "     Cranston  showed  a  lively  interest. 

"Yes.  I  suppose  since  you  are  in  the  same 
business,  there  is  no  harm  in  telling  you  that  he 
bought  some  stock  for  me.  Five  hundred  shares, 
it  was.  Do  you  think,  Brother  Cranston,  that  — 
er  —  that  will  mean  much  ?  You  see,  I  have  the 
fund  very  close  to  my  heart ;  that  is  why  I  ask." 

"It  depends,"  said  Cranston,  very  carelessly, 
"  upon  what  stock  he  bought  for  you." 

"  It  was  Erie  Railroad  stock." 

"  Of  course,  Dr.  Ramsdell,  your  profits  will  de 
pend  upon  the  price  you  paid."  This  also  in  a 
tone  of  utter  indifference. 

"  It  was  Brother  Shaw  who  paid.  The  price 
was  65J." 

"  Aha  ! "  said  Cranston.  "  So  the  Old  Man  is 
bullish  on  Erie,  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,  but  I  know 
he  told  me  I  should  read  the  paper  every  day  and 
see  how  much  above  65  J  the  price  went ;  and  that 
I  would  surely  hear  from  him." 

"  I  sincerely  hope  you  will,  Doctor.  Let  me 
see,  will  $100  do  ?  Very  well,  I'll  make  out  a 
check  for  you.  Here  it  is.  And  now,  Doctor, 
will  you  excuse  me  ?  We  are  very  busy,  indeed. 


220  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

Good- morning,  Dr.  Ramsdell.  Call  again  any 
time  you  happen  to  be  down  this  way."  And  he 
almost  pushed  the  good  man  out  of  the  office  in 
his  eagerness  to  be  rid  of  him. 

No  sooner  had  the  ground-glass  door  closed  on 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Ramsdell  than  Cranston  rushed  to 
the  telephone  and  put  in  an  order  to  buy  1,0.00 
shares  of  Erie  at  the  best  possible  price.  By  doing 
this  before  he  notified  his  friends  he  proved  that 
he  himself  firmly  believed  in  Erie ;  also,  he  bought 
his  stock  ahead  of  theirs  and  thereby,  in  all  like 
lihood,  bought  it  cheaper.  He  then  rushed  into 
the  customers'  room  and  yelled :  "  Hi,  there ! 
Everybody  get  aboard  Erie  !  Silas  Shaw  is  bull 
ish  as  Old  Nick  on  it.  I  get  this  absolutely 
straight.  I've  thought  all  along  the  old  rascal 
was  quietly  picking  it  up.  It's  his  movement  and 
no  mistake.  There  ought  to  be  ten  points  in  it 
if  you  buy  now." 

The  firm  of  Cranston  &  Melville  bought  in  all, 
that  day,  for  themselves  and  their  customers,  6,200 
shares  of  Erie,  doing  as  much  as  anyone  else  to 
advance  the  price  to  66  J. 

All  that  week  the  reverend  doctor  was  busy 
collecting  subscriptions  for  the  Bolivian  Missionary 
Fund.  He  was  a  good  soul  and  an  enthusiast  on 
the  subject  of  that  particular  subscription  list, 


A   THEOLOGICAL   TIPSTER  221 

So,  he  told  his  parishioners  how  Brother  Cranston 
had  given  $100  and  Brother  Baker,  another  Wall 
Street  man,  $250,  and  Brother  Shaw  had  prom 
ised  —  he  told  this  with  an  amused  smile,  as  if  at 
the  incongruity  of  it  —  to  make  the  stock  market 
contribute  to  the  fund !  Brother  Shaw  had  done 
this  by  buying  some  stock  for  him  and  had  as 
sured  him,  in  his  picturesque  way,  that  it  would 
come  out  O.  K.  in  a  week  or  two.  Everybody  to 
whom  he  told  that  fact  developed  curiosity  re 
garding  the  name  of  the  stock  itself.  They 
showed  it  in  divers  ways,  according  to  their  vari 
ous  temperaments.  And  as  he  had  told  some  he 
felt  that  he  should  not  discriminate  against  oth 
ers  ;  so,  he  told  to  all,  impartially,  the  name  of 
the  stock.  It  would  not  harm  Brother  Shaw,  he 
supposed  —  and  he  supposed  rightly.  He  experi 
enced,  in  a  gentle,  benevolent,  half-unconscious  sort 
of  way,  something  akin  to  the  great  Wall  Street 
delight  —  that  of  "  giving  a  straight  tip  "  to  ap 
preciative  friends.  The  Bolivian  Missionary  Fund 
grew  even  beyond  the  good  man's  optimistic  ex 
pectations. 

But  a  strange,  a  very  strange  thing  happened  : 
Erie  stock,  according  to  the  doctor's  daily  perusal 
of  the  dry  financial  pages,  had  been  fluctuating 
between  65  and  67.  On  the  following  Tuesday, 


WALL   STREET   STORIES 

to  his  intense  surprise,  the  stock  table  recorded : 
"Highest,  65f;  lowest,  62;  last,  62|."  On 
Wednesday  the  table  read  :  "  Highest,  62  J  ;  low 
est,  58  ;  last  58."  On  Thursday,  there  was  a  ray 
of  hope  —  the  stock  sold  as  high  as  60  and  closed 
at  59  J.  But  on  Friday  there  was  a  bad  break 
and  Erie  touched  54 J,  just  11 J  points  below  what 
the  Bolivian  Missionary  Fund's  stock  had  cost. 
And,  on  Saturday,  the  stock  declined  to  50,  clos 
ing  at  51  £. 

That  Sunday  the  Reverend  Doctor  Henry  W. 
Ramsdell  preached  to  the  gloomiest  congregation 
in  Gotham.  Wherever  he  turned  his  gaze  he  met 
reproachful  looks  —  accusing  eyes,  full  of  bitterness 
or  of  anger  or  of  sadness.  An  exception  was  Mr. 
Silas  Shaw,  who  had  come,  as  he  often  did,  to  hear 
his  friend,  Dr.  Ramsdell,  preach.  His  eyes  beamed 
benignantly  on  the  pastor  throughout  the  long 
sermon.  He  looked  as  if  he  felt,  Dr.  Ramsdell 
thought,  inexplicably  contented.  Had  he  forgot 
ten  his  promise  —  the  promise  from  which  benight 
ed  Bolivia  expected  so  much  ? 

The  two  men  met  after  the  service.  Dr.  Rams- 
dell's  manner  was  constrained ;  Mr.  Shaw's  affa 
ble. 

"  Good-morning,  Doctor,"  said  the  grizzled  old 
operator.  "  I've  carried  a  small  piece  of  paper  in 


A   THEOLOGICAL   TIPSTER  223 

my  pocket  for  some  days,  in  the  hope  of  meeting 
you.  Here  it  is.""  And  he  handed  a  check  foi1 
$5,000  to  the  clergyman. 

«  Why — er  —  I  -—  er  —  I  —didn't  —  the  stock 
—  er  —  go  down  ?  " 

"Sure!" 

"  How  is  it  then  that " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right.  It  came  out  just  as  I 
expected.  That's  why  you  get  the  check." 

"  But  —  ahem  !  —  didn't  you  buy  500  shares  for 
me?" 

"Yes ;  but  after  you  left  I  sold  10,000  shares 
between  65  and  67.  Your  congregation,  Doctor, 
developed  a  remarkable  bullishness  on  Erie."  He 
chuckled  gleefully.  "  It  was  to  them  that  I  sold 
the  stock  ! " 

"  But  my  —  ahem  !  —  impression  was  that  you 
said  the  stock  would  go  up." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  never  said  that.  I  merely  told 
you  we'd  come  out  O.  K.  And  I  guess  we  have." 
He  laughed  joyously.  "  It's  all  right,  Doctor ; 
those  pesky  Bolivians  will  be  enlightened,  you 
bet." 

"  But,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  very  red  face, 
fingering  the  check,  hesitatingly,  "  I  don't  know 
whether  to  accept  it  or  not." 

"  Oh,  you're  not  robbing  me,"  the  old  stock 


224  WALL   STREET   STORIES 

gambler  assured  him,  gaily.  "  I  made  out  quite 
well ;  quite  well,  thank  you." 

"I  —  I  —  mean  —  "  stammered  the  clergymanv 
"  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  right  to " 

Shaw  frowned.  "  Put  that  check  in  your  pock 
et,"  he  said,  sharply.  "  You  earned  it." 


THE    END 


8 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


CD77CIE^DE^ 


